


A Desperate Folly

by youtextd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bisexual John, Drinking & Talking, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Gay Sherlock, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, POV Alternating, Past Abuse, Porn With Plot, Post-His Last Vow, Post-Season/Series 03, Smut, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youtextd/pseuds/youtextd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mary, after Moriarty, John has moved back into Baker Street picking up the threads of his old life with Sherlock. But one night of adrenaline fuelled passion threatens to destroy the friendship they have left...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are again. Another role-play between [Sherrllocked](http://sherrllocked.tumblr.com) and [Johnnlocked](http://johnnlocked.tumblr.com)
> 
> This is unbeta'd and not britpicked. Tags may change in due time. 
> 
> Remember, we feed off of your comments and kudos, so don't hesitate to let us know what you think.
> 
> Be warned: explicit sexual content and idiotic emotionally constipated men in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content in this chapter (like you guys mind...)

‘Her face! Sherlock, did you see her face?!’

 

‘And you with the shoes – ’

 

‘Oi, shut up, you – she nearly blew my eardrums with her yelling!’

 

Sherlock struggled to catch his breath through his laughter and John wasn't faring much better. They were standing in the foyer, leaning against the wall and clutching each other to keep themselves upright. Both of them were giggling, still high on the adrenaline of the case and Sherlock could weep with relief.

 

After everything that had happened with Mary, with Moriarty, things were finally getting better again. John was home. Mary and the baby – not John’s – out of John’s sight and life, their marriage completely over. And things were good. Brilliant.

 

Sherlock looked at John’s laughter wrinkled face. ‘Amazing.’

 

‘That is my line!’ John exclaimed, looking up at Sherlock now and their eyes met.

 

_Oh._

 

Sherlock felt his smile drop as the atmosphere in the hallway suddenly shifted. John’s smile weakened as well, but their eyes kept fixed on each other’s faces. John was touching him. He had barely felt his touch before, but now, Sherlock could feel the weight of John’s hand on his shoulder burn through him.

 

_This is…_

 

Sherlock swallowed, and his eyes darted to John’s lips when he noticed movement. He licked them. Christ, John was licking his lips and Sherlock couldn’t look away. 

 

 

Licking his lips like he had probably wasn't the best idea at the moment, but John was tired of playing by the rules that he had imposed on himself since that very first dinner at Angelo's. Now that Mary was gone and out of his life... well it was time for him to start living again and this moment was full of everything he wanted out of life.

 

_Sherlock._

 

John shifted and pushed away from the wall, turning to face the taller man, hand still resting on Sherlock's shoulder, though there was no longer a need for it to be there. Sherlock's eyes following the movements of his lips and tongue as he licked them again, smirking as he stepped forward closing the distance between them.

 

John let his hand wander across Sherlock's shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the curls, their eyes locking, and John quirking his eyebrow and tilting his head silently questioning whether this was OK.

 

The next moment the space between their lips had vanished.

 

John had inched Sherlock forward, his tongue licking across Sherlock's lips demanding entrance. Sherlock groaning as he parted his lips, his hands reaching out and clutching John's waist pulling him so their bodies ended up flush against each other. 

 

 

John. John. John.

 

There was nothing else but John’s lips on his. Nothing but his hand still in his hair, lazily playing with his curls, making Sherlock’s knees buckle. Nothing but the feeling of John being pressed up against him.

 

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

 

After so many years, to have this happen without warning, without hesitation, was enough to render Sherlock’s brain mute, apart from that one name repeating itself. Over and over.

 

And yet Sherlock didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

 

Sherlock tightened his hold on John’s waist for a moment, before he turned them, pressing John firmly with his back against the wall, completely crowding him. He let his hand trail up from John’s waist to his neck to tilt his head back a little. Sherlock broke the kiss, but his lips never left John’s skin as he moved to the sensitive skin behind John’s ear.

 

Oh how he had longed to do this. To taste John. Smell him. Mark him if John would let him.

 

Sherlock pressed one leg between John’s and he groaned when he felt John’s erection straining his trousers.

 

It was so easy to read John like this. Every barrier, every mask had fallen away completely. Every gasp and moan was saved and stored away in Sherlock's mind palace for later. Every scrap of information Sherlock already had on John was being pulled up and used.

 

Sherlock rolled his hips, pressing his own erection against John’s thigh and creating the friction John so desperately sought, and it nearly undid him right there and then. They had waited so long! 

 

 

Christ, the feeling of Sherlock pushing up against him, rutting (there was really no other word for it) against his thigh was driving John absolutely mad with want. Any reservations or doubts he might have had at this moment disappeared as soon as he felt Sherlock's erection pressing into his thigh.

 

God, how John had always wanted this and now that it was right here in front of him, he reached out and grabbed it with both hands. He pulled Sherlock's lips to his again, biting and sucking at his bottom lip, the need to have Sherlock overriding every logical thought in his brain - specifically the one that shouted ‘bad idea Watson’. 

 

He raked his fingers half way down the front of Sherlock's damned purple shirt, grasping each side and pulling it free from his trousers before ripping it open and pushing the fabric apart, buttons scattering to all corners of the foyer. 

 

John surged forward, pushing away from the wall and turning them again, distracting Sherlock from his protests by mouthing down his neck and chest to lapping at his nipples while his hands busied themselves tugging at Sherlock's belt.

 

 

Sherlock grunted when his back hit the wall and when his shirt was ripped apart. But his protest died quickly; John's lips were moving on his neck now, hitting all the right places and whatever Sherlock might have said, dissolved into a needy moan. He quivered when John's mouth descended on his nipples. John sucked them and licked them, nearly causing Sherlock's knees to buckle in response. 

 

His own hands moved to John's belt when he felt John fumbling with his. He yanked John's trousers down, cupped the obvious bulge in John's pants and pressed. John gasped against his neck. 

 

Some part of Sherlock screamed at him to slow down. To savour this moment. But the need was too great. He didn't want to wait right now. 

 

His hand slipped inside John's pants and he grabbed him tightly. 

 

 

'Oh fuck yes!' John groaned as Sherlock's hand wrapped around him firmly and began to pull. He rested his head on Sherlock's chest for the first few strokes, panting, lost in the sensation. It had been far too long since he had felt a man's hands on him and Sherlock's were extraordinary. 

 

He abandoned Sherlock's belt for the moment dragging his fingers up his chest, resting his palms flat against him and catching Sherlock's gaze. Watching Sherlock look at him was intoxicating, the look of want in his now dark, lust blown eyes was incredible. It made John feel desired, something John hadn't felt in a very long time. 

 

'Fuck Sherlock! More. Tighter. Please!’ John urged. 

 

 

How could Sherlock deny such a wanton request? 

 

Sherlock grabbed John's hip with his free hand and turned them around again, while he pulled down John's pants with his other so he could have more room. He wanted to take John apart. Have him writhe in his hands. Make him all John could think about. 

 

'Don't move,' Sherlock panted in John's ear. And slowly, oh so slowly, he began to move his hand again. 

 

His grip was tighter now, but he stroked him leisurely, dragging out every single gasp and shudder John couldn't hold back. Sherlock watched him, drinking in every single line on his face. Cataloguing the redness of John's cheeks. The frequency of his breath. The sweat on his brow. Every part of John Watson was saved and stored away safely in his mind and when he had, Sherlock allowed his hand to speed up. 

 

 

John nodded, obeying Sherlock's order and not moving while he enjoyed the slow, steady strokes Sherlock employed at the start. It was when Sherlock's hand sped up and the rhythm became more insistent, that John clutched Sherlock's waist and began bucking his hips into Sherlock tightly circled grip. 

 

It was tight and intense and John could feel the pleasure coiling at the base of his spine and he couldn't be arsed to care that this was going to be over so quick because this was fucking glorious. Sherlock getting him off, here in the foyer where anyone could walk in, God how that thought made his cock harder, made him grasp Sherlock's hips tighter. 

 

'Oh God,' he moaned. 'Close, so very close.' He panted. 'Please Sherlock, make me come.'

 

 

Sherlock moaned at John's request and he rutted against John's leg in response. The idea of making John come, here in the hall, with nothing more than his hand, caused his heart to race. He wanted to see John like that. And now, finally, after all those years, it could be right here in front of him. 

 

He tightened his hold on John a little and he let his thumb trace the head of John's cock. 'Do it,' Sherlock growled in a deep voice. 'Let go, John.' 

 

 

'Yes, like that!' John gasped as Sherlock's grip tightened. He could feel it, his balls tightening, quivers rushing through his body, he was right there he just needed a little more. When Sherlock's thumb brushed the head of his cock, he moaned loudly. 'Fuck! Again!' He begged, his hips jerking, precum pooling at the slit as Sherlock's thumb wickedly made another pass over his head. John grunted as his body went tense, his cock spurting thick strands of cum over Sherlock's hand.

 

 

Oh, what a sight it was to see John lose his control like that. John's mouth fell open in a quiet scream as his hips stuttered. Sherlock worked his hand slowly now, guiding John through his orgasm. But he never allowed his eyes to leave John's face. 

 

He would never forget this. He would live through these moments for weeks, months, years to come! 

 

Sherlock leaned his head forward a little, capturing John's mouth with his own to taste the noises off his lips. 

 

'Amazing,' Sherlock repeated. 

 

 

John made a small noise of discontent when Sherlock leaned back, he rested his head on Sherlock's chest momentarily as he caught his breath. His eyes slid shut as he reveled in the glow of his orgasm. 

 

When Sherlock called him amazing, a wicked grin settled on his lips. He looked up and caught the taller man's eyes. 

 

'Oh you have no idea.' He said as he let his hands travel back to Sherlock's belt to pick up where he had left off previously. 'I believe I can help you with this,' he purred as he sank to his knees pulling Sherlock's trousers and pants down on his way.

 

 

Sherlock's breath stuttered in his throat at the sight of John on his knees in front on him, mere inches from his erection. John I-am-not-gay Watson was about to suck him...  _oh God!_

 

When John's mouth engulfed Sherlock's cock, he struggled not to thrust further into John's willing mouth. It felt better than he dared dream. Sherlock's hand settled on John's head and he let his fingers tangle through the strands of his hair. Not pushing him. Not forcing him. But just to hold on. To have one solid point of touch he could control. 

 

 

John hummed contentedly around Sherlock's impressive length, long like the man himself. He enjoyed the feel of Sherlock's weight on his tongue as he ran it up and down his shaft. He groaned as he felt Sherlock's finger's graze over his scalp and it sent shivers down his spine. He wanted so much from this right now, wanted Sherlock to let go and use his mouth.

 

He pulled off and looked up at Sherlock who whimpered at the loss of John's mouth on him, letting his free hand rest on the wall to keep himself upright, the other hand still in John's hair. John could see the need in Sherlock's eye, the need to pull John back to his cock by the grip in his hair.

 

John smiled wickedly. ‘When I'm ready, and you'll know when, don't hold back Sherlock. I want you to use my mouth. Take what you need from me. I won't break.’

 

He leaned forward, running his tongue around the crown of Sherlock's cock before wrapping his lips around him again and sliding down as far as he could go, about half his length, then back up. He sucked at the head again, then slid down again, breathing in deep through his nose, getting used to the feel of Sherlock in his mouth, it had been a long while since he'd sucked another man off, but it was coming back to him. He lightly held Sherlock hips now, relaxing his jaw allowing himself to take more of Sherlock into his mouth this time.

 

 

Sherlock stared in amazement at John, taking him deeper and deeper each time he went down on him. John's words reverberated in Sherlock's mind. 

 

_'Don't hold back... Take what you need...'_

 

Christ, his brain would melt. Sherlock was sure of it. Which each passing second, Sherlock knew it was going to happen. And he didn't care. 

 

Sherlock's hold on John's hair tightened for a moment, giving John one more chance of backing away. But John merely looked at him with lust filled eyes, silently spurring him on and Sherlock was lost. He dropped his hand to John's neck, as he used the other hand braced himself properly against the wall before his hips started moving. Just a little at first. To allow John to get used to him. 

 

But John seemed determined to get all of him inside his mouth as quickly as possible. 

 

Sherlock bit his lip. 

 

He didn't want to come just yet even though he was already dangerously close. How could he not be? 

 

 

John hummed around him again and Sherlock hips snapped in response, pushing his cock deep inside John. It was too much to resist now. And John made no effort of pulling back. So Sherlock squeezed John's neck a little, letting his fingertips run through the hair on the back of his neck before he started moving in earnest. 

 

 

John moaned as Sherlock's hand at the back of his neck held him still. His fingertips dug into Sherlock's hips now, grip tightening in response to Sherlock's thrusts. He shifted his knees apart just a little wider to stabilise himself better as Sherlock's thrusts became deeper and quicker. 

 

He hummed, sending vibrations down Sherlock's length into his groin, eyes rising up to meet Sherlock's. When theirs eyes met this time, John's lashes fluttered and Sherlock's grip on his neck tightened. John's eyes slid shut, his nails etching half-moon shapes into Sherlock's skin now, urging him for more. 

 

He opened his mouth as wide as he could now, saliva collecting and dripping from the corner of his mouth now. God this was exactly what he wanted and within the next few thrusts, he found his nose flush against Sherlock's pelvis, the curly hair tickling his nose. Sherlock pulled back and snapped forward again and this time John slid his hands back and cupped his arse, holding him still as he swallowed around him and moaned, sending a jolt through Sherlock's body. 

 

His eyes shot upward, locking with Sherlock's one last time as he gave an almost imperceptible nod while his eyes urged Sherlock to let go and fuck his mouth like they both desired. 

 

 

That little nod. A mere tilt of John’s head and Sherlock felt his control shatter. Sherlock moved, fucking his mouth without hesitation now. And John took it.

 

John looked absolutely glorious like this. His cheeks were flushed, hair tousled. And those lips. Those magnificent lips wrapped tightly around him, red and swollen, taking every single inch Sherlock gave him. And he was loving it.

 

With John holding his arse, spurring him on, Sherlock felt his balls tighten. He couldn’t hold back any longer, even if he tried. ‘John…’ Sherlock warned, but John just sucked him harder in response. That was it.

 

Sherlock felt his muscles clench and his vision blurred. He tried to hold John in place as he came down John’s throat, but the strength had left his hands. Sherlock was left struggling for a hold in John’s hair as his body quivered with orgasm. As the last of the shocks wrecked through him, Sherlock knees buckled. But it was John who kept him upright. He clutched his hips as he licked Sherlock’s cock clean before he rose to his feet, the flush still on his cheeks.

 

Sherlock leaned forward, pinning John against the wall again with his entire body, too exhausted to stand. He nuzzled his face against John’s neck, breathing him in. 

 

They stayed reclined against the wall for what seemed like ages until the sounds of the street outside became louder and pulled them out of their reverie. 

 

 

John was the first to suggest they move. He cleared his throat, grimacing at the feel. It wasn't exactly sore but he could tell his voice was going to suffer for a while after the rigorous activity it had just undergone. 

 

'We should maybe move this upstairs? Wouldn't do well for our image to be caught with our pants down like this.' He joked, not quite sure how to proceed now that the heat of the moment had passed and his brain was starting to analyse what just happened between him and Sherlock. 'I think I could use some tea.' He tried, voice uneven and scratchy. 'Come on.' He coaxed bending down and pulling Sherlock's pants and trousers back up so he could prod the man upstairs. He then gave himself the same treatment, afterwards running his hands through his hair to so it wasn't sticking out all over the place. He reached out and took Sherlock's hand and pulled him up the stairs, worry setting in because Sherlock had yet to say anything. 

 

 

With the adrenaline of the case and the endorphins leaving his system rapidly, something cold and sickening was left inside his gut.

 

John wasn’t gay.

 

Bisexual.

 

Obvious now really; that hadn’t been the first time John had sucked someone off. But in all those years they never… John hadn’t… well, that wasn’t true was it? From the very first day there had been something. Something neither of them dared to acknowledge and then it had been too late. Mary had been there, John had married and Sherlock had hated himself for not saying anything sooner.

 

And then there had been Sholto and Sherlock knew. It never was the fact that he was a man. It was that he was the wrong kind of man.

 

And now, they'd had sex.

 

Why?

 

Sherlock tried to ignore the need to run and hide in his room. But instead, he followed John upstairs, completely silent. John moved to the kitchen, busying himself with making tea, while Sherlock hovered near the door.

 

Why indeed? Why had John allowed him to do what they just did? Did he miss sex? You had to be blind to miss the fact John and Mary hadn’t been intimate long before the divorce had been finalised. And John hadn’t left for any dates after it. John liked sex. He liked it a lot. And he had been angry at Sherlock for disrupting his dates before he left. 

 

So what was this? A one-off?

 

It made Sherlock feel sick.

 

‘John… I…’ Sherlock swallowed uncomfortably. ‘I mean, we just…’ This wouldn’t do. What if it had been a one-time thing? If John could see just how much Sherlock was affected by this, it could end them! So Sherlock straightened himself and took a deep breath, letting his mask fall back into place.

 

‘That was… good.’

 

 

Thank God John had had his back to Sherlock at that moment - busy making tea.

 

 _Good._ That's all Sherlock had thought about it? _Good?_

 

He felt about half insulted and his shoulders tensed. Had his hands not been busy with the kettle, sugar then milk, they would have been balled into fists at his side. He held his tongue though. It wouldn't do to go off on Sherlock, though he could feel the anger boiling. Standing there he realised this could be awkward and he was determined to not let it ruin things. He could turn it into a laugh if need be, something that they both needed - a one-off and really things would be fine. They needn't ever bring it up again, but this...

 

Sherlock's flippant remark and near one word answer of  _good_  now made him feel unwanted. He wasn't surprised when he turned around to see the same, everyday stone facade back in place. Where was the other Sherlock he had caught glimpses of since his return? The one who had apologised on the tube car that night he thought they were both going to die, the man who delivered that heart felt best man's speech, the man who had been there to offer comfort after John returned to Baker Street unannounced all those months ago in the middle of the night?

 

It had seemed like a good idea standing there in the foyer, something they had both wanted, but he supposed that was the adrenaline running through their veins and now that it was over...

 

Well, if that's how Sherlock wanted it, that's what he would give him. He set Sherlock's cup of tea at the end of the table where he stood.

 

'Right, then.' He said tersely. 'I guess I'll just head up to my room then. Long day, tired and all.' He finished as he cradled his mug in his hands and turned and headed back to the door and up the stairs without a further word.

 

 

Sherlock stared at the cup of tea as John moved past him with a curt dismissal. 

 

'Good night,' Sherlock muttered, but John made no indication that he had heard him. Probably for the best. They needed to move beyond this. Sherlock couldn't let their friendship be ruined by a mere lapse in judgement. On both their sides. 

 

Sherlock had been desperate for John for years.  John had merely craved intimacy. Nothing more. He would delete it. Or file it away and be normal. He wouldn't bring it up so John wouldn't be embarrassed by it. 

 

Sherlock nodded to himself and left the kitchen for his own bedroom. That was it. 

 

It wouldn't happen again. Sherlock couldn't let it happen again. 

 

He wouldn't risk their friendship again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think we'd make it easy for these idiots now did you?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit sexual content (as if that is not the reason you are all here...)

But of course, things being what they were when it came to life with Sherlock, it did happen again.

 

By the morning, life had gone completely back to normal and John let it fall from his memory. Well the best he could anyway. He tried not to think of how it felt to finally have the one thing he'd always craved but never thought possible and for the most part he was able to bury it. And he did a commendable job. At least until the next case came along.

 

It had started off simple enough. A small time burglary ring with very high class tastes. Sherlock had somehow managed to deduce where their next target would be - a private art gallery - after a seemingly string of random heists and ended up with a knife at Sherlock's neck, held by a twenty something year old punk who now thought he had the upper hand because he had London's only Consulting Detective as a hostage But this fool had greatly underestimated the situation; he hadn’t taken the wrath of John Watson into account.

 

When John finally caught up with the punk and Sherlock, things happened fast. Of course the Yard had been a full fifteen minutes behind as always and Lestrade ended up pulling a very livid John off the ringleader to prevent from John seriously hurting the guy. When the punk declared he wanted to press charges against John, Lestrade whispered something in his ear, making the man's eyes go wide before shaking his head. Greg had taken one look at John and Sherlock and told them to get lost for the remainder of the evening. Their statements could wait until the morning. 

 

With a nod they were off and soon found themselves in a cab heading back to Baker Street. The ride home was quiet and tense. Sherlock had enough sense to keep his mouth shut and wait for John to speak. The words never came. When the pulled up to the kerb, John quickly exited the cab, letting Sherlock pay. John made his way up to the flat first. By the time Sherlock joined him, John's emotions had hit overload. The mere sound of Sherlock closing the door behind him, spurred John into action.

 

John was right there, all the way into Sherlock's personal space and crowding him against the door. He grabbed the lapels of the Belstaff and yanked the other man towards him. He didn't care anymore what the consequences might be or if Sherlock even wanted this or minded. He just needed to make sure the git was really standing right in front of him and that he was OK. He could deal with the baggage later. Right now he needed Sherlock. Needed to feel and inspect every inch of his body.

 

 

When their mouths collided it hurt. Their teeth clashed and the rhythm was all off and yet Sherlock couldn’t get enough of it. Because John was here again, grabbing him, holding him close. Kissing him.

 

These past few days had been absolute torture. To have John so close to him, pretending like nothing had happened had been near unbearable. When Lestrade had called with a case, Sherlock didn’t hesitate for a second to take it. He had needed it. They both needed it.

 

But he had been distracted. John was ever on his mind and Sherlock could recall with perfect clarity how that mouth had felt on his cock. How John had felt in his hand when he came. The taste and the smell of him. And it hadn’t let him go.

 

So he really shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was by the knife the criminal had been hiding. Nor that said knife had been at his throat the moment John rounded the corner.

 

The anger, the worry, the sheer ferociousness of John’s attack… it made Sherlock’s blood sing.

 

As did this.

 

Sherlock allowed himself to be pushed back by John. Sofa, Sherlock noted when the back of his knees hit the piece of furniture. Good; Sherlock wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay standing through it this time. 

 

 

 

 

John knew it was wrong as he pushed Sherlock towards the sofa but he couldn't bring himself to care, and Sherlock wasn't exactly stopping him so he saw no reason to stop. In fact, it was this or shouting at the mad man and John preferred this.  

 

As Sherlock bounced on the sofa, John stood, shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it to the side. There were so many possibilities of how this could go running through his mind right now and he couldn't decide what he wanted most. He stared down at Sherlock who had settled on the sofa now, reclining on his arms, one long leg bent and resting against the back of the sofa and the other one resting on the edge of the coffee table, leaving him spread wide for anything John wanted to do. And, oh, there was so much John wanted to do and have done to himself, but John's mind stopped him from proceeding.

 

_Remember what happened last time.  It will be the same thing this time, probably worse, even if it seems like a good idea now._

 

 

Sherlock could see the hesitation in John's eyes and posture when he let himself sink on his back on the sofa.

 

_No!_

Sherlock couldn’t let this happen. Not now. Not while they were so close. Sherlock needed to have John again.

 

He pushed himself up until he was sitting and his hands immediately went to work on John’s trousers and pants. All Sherlock needed to do was to distract John long enough. Let them worry about this – whatever this was – later.

 

Sherlock pulled John’s trousers and pants down in one movement and then stood. He was towering over John and for one moment things slowed down. They stared at each other, their words stuck in their throats. But then Sherlock moved.

 

He grabbed John by his arms, pushing him down on the sofa so that he was seated right on the edge and Sherlock followed him down to settle on his knees on the floor. Sherlock pulled off John’s shoes and trousers so John could properly spread his legs to allow Sherlock to kneel between them.

 

‘Stay there,’ Sherlock groaned and before John could answer him, Sherlock’s lips had wrapped themselves around John’s cock.

 

 

John's mind lost the fight when Sherlock's lips wrapped around him and sunk down his length. Definitely not married to his work then and has done this before floated through his mind before becoming lost in the haze of just wanting more. He let himself melt into the back of the sofa and his legs fall wider apart as Sherlock's hands came to rest on his hips.

 

Christ, the feeling and pressure of those lips on his cock…

 

John shivered and groaned as Sherlock's head began to bob slowly. When John felt Sherlock's tongue lick its way up the underside of his cock, his hips jerked, following that amazing mouth.  

 

'Sh- Sher-,' he stuttered. 'Just don't stop. More.' John begged as he twined his fingers into his raven curls and guided him further down his cock.

 

 

Sherlock couldn't fight back the moan that escaped him when John's fingers tangled in his hair. The mere thought of John, holding him in place by his hair send a shiver down his spine and Sherlock forced himself to take in more of John's cock. 

  
  
John tasted as he smelled; delicious. And Sherlock licked and sucked him at a relentless rhythm. Anything to ensure that John wouldn't stop to think. 

  
  
Sherlock's hands slid over John's upper legs, massaging the firm muscles there and he looked up at John when he let one hand slip to his balls and the sensitive skin behind it. 

  
  
He lacked the data to know if John would be comfortable with that. To know if he had perhaps done that before, even if it had been with one of him female conquests. 

 

 

John shivered and moaned, appreciative that Sherlock was testing the waters on where he could and could not touch. But in fact, this felt like downright taunting and John wanted more. John wanted it all. If he was going to risk everything one more time, without being sure of what the outcome would be, then fuck it. He was damn well going to have Sherlock every way possible.

 

John inched forward so he arse was a bit off the edge of the sofa now, allowing Sherlock to manoeuvre his wonderfully large hands around freely. John let his legs drop even further apart giving Sherlock plenty of room whilst making his desire very clear to the man kneeling in front of him.

 

'Please,' he begged. His grip tightening around the strands of hair still woven through his fingers. Christ, his mind felt like it was short circuiting as Sherlock took more of him in his mouth and dropped his fingers further back teasingly.

 

'Wait...' John said before Sherlock began applying pressure. He quickly grabbed for the hand pressing forward and brought those magnificently long fingers to his mouth, sliding them between his lips to get them nice and wet. The logical thing would be to pause while he sent Sherlock to get the lube from one of their rooms, but John was loathe to give up the feel of Sherlock's mouth on his cock, not to mention give either of them the chance to change their minds. Plus he needed to know what those fingers felt like on the most intimate parts of his body and he needed to know now.

 

 

Sherlock shivered when John sucked his fingers.

 

John wanted this. He actually wanted this! Wasn’t new to this either. And Sherlock hadn’t known. He had been blindsided by John’s ‘not gay’ comments, not realising that there had been so much more to the John Watson he knew. John _had_ been interested that first night at Angelo’s, but for what?

 

A lay over? A one-time thing, like they had now – although technically this was the second time – and then move on? Or would he have moved in anyway? Come to cases with him and shag each other senseless on the quiet evenings. But never more. John would still look for a woman to settle down with. White picket fence and the average 2.1 children. Could Sherlock have lived with it?

 

Yes, his mind cried out when he pulled his fingers free from John’s mouth. A thousand times yes. He would go through worse if that meant he could have this just every so often and pretend.

 

Sherlock traced his now wet fingers around John’s hole and he slowed the movements of his mouth. He dragged them out, he made John shiver and gasp and with his eyes firmly fixed on John’s face, he slid his middle finger inside of John. 

 

 

All the thoughts in John's mind came to a crashing halt as Sherlock's finger eased its way in past the tight ring of muscles. The feeling was like nothing else in the world and it had been so long since John's last time that he had almost forgotten how enjoyable this could be with the right person. And Sherlock was that person – he was careful at first, taking his time. Slowly pushing in the whole way before withdrawing, letting John become accustomed to the feeling of his finger while distracting him with his mouth. And oh, that mouth... That sinful, decadent mouth that kept teasing. Sherlock’s tongue lapped at his crown then swirled around it. He tongued at his slit before wrapping those perfect lips around his head, sucking more and while Sherlock had been busy distracting him with that wicked tongue, another finger joined the first one in teasing John open.

 

While the addition of another finger wasn't too much, it was a bit unpleasant relying only on saliva for lube, which was easily solved. John tugged Sherlock by the hair, pulling him up and to his mouth for a kiss, forcing him to slow his movements.

 

'Lube, we need it, I want you,' he panted when the kiss broke, making his desire for Sherlock explicitly clear.

 

 

The heat and the tightness around Sherlock's fingers made his cock ache. John already felt this good around his fingers. And Sherlock couldn't help but wonder how John would feel around him. 

 

Sherlock gasped around John's erection when John properly grabbed his hair and pulled him up. It left him breathless, wanting and he was sure John could read it off of his face. John kissed him, holding him in place by his hair before pulling back again. 

 

Sherlock froze for a moment when John asked him for the lube. 

 

Lube. Does John want to - _oh God, please!_

 

Sherlock's heart was hammering in his chest as he nodded. 'Bedroom,' he rasped out. 'I have...' Sherlock swallowed and tried to regain his focus a little. 'I have it. Shall we go...' 

 

Oh, to be able to have John on his sheets. To be able to smell him later on his pillows. John. In his bed. Sherlock hid his face against John's neck, struggling to regain his breath.  

 

Sherlock stopped moving his fingers completely now and he slowly pulled out so he wouldn't hurt John.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock had gone almost completely still when John told him they needed lube.

 

_Too far? This was too far,_  John had thought to himself for a second before Sherlock did something that knocked John's world off kilter; he invited John into his bedroom. To have sex.

 

He needn't ask twice. John had waited for Sherlock to remove his fingers before he made his move. He wasn't giving Sherlock the chance to change his mind.

 

 

John stood and pulled Sherlock up by his hands, dragging the man down the hallway to his room. He turned to face Sherlock just inside the doorway and grabbed the hem of his jumper and shirt pulling it up and over his body, tossing them aside. They landed on the floor, forgotten. He then stepped forward, working on the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, slowly, exposing the skin underneath. He licked up the center of Sherlock's chest before veering off to the right, sucking a mark bellow his collar bone, then kissed up his neck to his earlobe and nibbled.  

 

'I believe you said you had lube, yeah?' he purred into his ear before backing away and crawling onto Sherlock's bed, settling himself on his back, in the middle of the bed, running his left hand up his body, waiting for Sherlock to join him.  

 

 

Sherlock’s mouth turned dry at the sight of John, naked, on his bed. He would never forget this. On his dying breath he would remember John like this, all stretched out before him, erect and flushed and, oh so wanting. Of him!

 

‘Drawer. Left side.’ Sherlock’s deep voice rumbled. John turned to fetch it and Sherlock, with trembling fingers, opened his own trousers and stepped out of them. His pants, tented by his own erection, followed quickly thereafter, so when John turned back on his back, lube in his hand, Sherlock was on his knees on the bed, completely bare.

 

He held out his hand for the lube. 

 

 

John placed the bottle in Sherlock's hand then quickly pulled it away, teasingly. He gave Sherlock a sly smile and placed the bottle back in his hand, but held on to it. He cupped his other hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him to his lips and Sherlock's body half way on top of his. There was too much distance between and it needed to be gone. He nibbled at Sherlock's lips and pushed his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth while he let his legs fall apart and allowed their groins to make contact.

 

They groaned in unison as their erections came together, the contact providing a bit of relief. Between kisses John growled at Sherlock. 'Need you. Want your fingers back inside me. Want all of you and more.'

 

 

Sherlock chuckled nervously at John's playful behaviour but he also felt relief. John was relaxed. He was smiling. He wanted this. 

  
  
But his breath was knocked out of him when John pulled him down to capture his lips and the movement caused their groins to align.

   
  
So good. Sherlock groaned at the intensity of it. He could spend hours like this, kissing John, mapping each inch of his skin, discovering what made him moan and quiver. What made him flinch. He wanted to know everything. 

 

But John practically begged him for more and Sherlock found himself unable to resist. 

  
  
He moved back, making sure John's legs were spread enough, with the bottle of lube now firmly in his hand. 

  
  
The initial contact of the cold liquid on his fingers made even Sherlock hiss. It felt like all his nerve endings were burning, desperate for the heat of John's skin. 

  
  
Not long now. 

  
  
Sherlock licked his lips. Slowly he brought his fingers down again, following the movement with his eyes. With his fingers properly coated in lube and said lube warmed up enough, Sherlock didn't dare waste any more time; he pushed in, two fingers at once and moved them. 

 

 

John watched raptly as Sherlock slicked his fingers and set to work. He dropped his head back to the mattress and moaned loudly with no regard to whether anyone other than Sherlock could hear him. He clutched at Sherlock's upper arms, reveling in how the muscles moved underneath his fingertips. John’s fingers dug into Sherlock's skin as Sherlock picked up the pace and pushed in all the way.

 

In no time at all, John was a writhing mess under Sherlock's ministrations, planting his feet on the mattress, pushing back, matching the rhythm Sherlock had established. He canted his hips just a bit and oh, that was the spot.

 

'Oh, right there. Another finger. Oh.' John cried out, breath hitching as Sherlock concentrated on the angle that had John all but arching up off the mattress. He slowed, adding another finger, now massaging John's prostate gland, taking note at the precum dripping from his flushed cock. John's hands in the meantime hand fallen to the mattress, clutching the duvet in his fists, twisting the fabric frantically. Words had left him at this point, he was a moaning mess as Sherlock added pressure to his fingertips and circled them faster.

 

 

Sherlock had been sure that nothing could beat having John coming undone in the foyer, like he had several days ago. But this. Oh this. This was so much better than Sherlock had ever dared dream.

 

John was responsive, moaning and writhing, completely lost to the sensations that Sherlock’s fingers provided him. He was arching onto his fingers, desperate for more friction, for a better stretch.

 

_I love him._

The thought and realisation came to Sherlock without warning and it nearly ruined everything. Something akin to a sob welled up in Sherlock’s throat and he barely managed to disguise it into a groan. He pressed his face against John’s chest, hiding it away from his sight.

 

Sherlock removed his fingers from John’s body and before he could protest, Sherlock moved. He slicked himself up and what John could see as deep breaths to contain himself at the touch of his own hand was actually an attempt to suppress the sentiment that had so suddenly arisen. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes now. This might his last chance to have John like this again. His feelings couldn’t be in the way.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock swallowed and moved his hands to John's hips. 'On your stomach.' 

 

He tried not to think about how absolutely wrecked he sounded and Sherlock hoped that John would be too lost to notice. 

 

 

John rolled over, without a word, not sure how Sherlock wanted him to present himself. He came to rest flat on his stomach, stretched out and waiting for Sherlock's next move, which seemed to be stalled. Not good, John thought to himself. He needed to lure Sherlock back in, make him push aside any doubts he was having about this. They were so close and John was not leaving this room, not now, not after finally being invited in after all these years.

 

John pushed up onto his knees, reached behind himself, and put an arm around Sherlock to pull their bodies closer together. He left his head fall back on Sherlock's shoulder. John could feel Sherlock’s erection pressing insistently against his arse - so that wasn't the problem. Did he think John didn't want him or want this?

 

'Sherlock,' he breathed, voice low and husky. 'You can have me any way you want me, just tell me what to do.' He craned his neck, running his nose along his long, pale neck, following with his tongue. 'Please. I need you. I'm so empty inside.'

 

 

 

 

Sherlock's eyes were clenched shut when John whispered in his ear. To have John, begging for him, was almost too much. Sherlock thrust his hips forwards, grinding roughly against John and he wrapped his arm around his torso. He kept them both upright on their knees, for now. This, Sherlock thought, was good. He could breathe John in like this, taste the sweat off his neck. Kiss his ear. And John couldn’t see his face.

 

Due to the slickness of his cock, Sherlock slid between John arse cheeks easily and he stilled his hips for a moment. But John’s pleas still echoed in his ears and Sherlock pushed forward.

 

That first breach, when the muscle gave away for him to enter, it forced a groan out of them both. John ground back to him, desperate for more and Sherlock obliged. What else could he do? So he pushed forward, slowly, until their bodies were completely against each other.

 

Neither of them allowed the other time to adjust; both of them pulled away and pushed back at the same time. Sherlock lowered his mouth to John’s shoulder. His lips and teeth grazed the flushed skin as they kept moving. Faster. More. Please, God, more! 

 

 

From the start, neither of them held back, not once their bodies came together, it was tight, hot and nothing could compare to the feeling. John's fingers gripped into Sherlock's arse urging him on.

 

'Fuck Sherlock,' John panted. While this angle was a good start, it wasn't anywhere near enough. John bent forward, spreading his knees a bit further allowing for deeper penetration and lowering the top half of his body to mattress, arms spread out in front of him. He wanted to be taken, marked, fucked into the mattress. He wanted Sherlock to own him. This wasn't something he would ever willingly give to another person and he wanted Sherlock to have it, even if Sherlock wasn't aware that it was his to have.

 

The first few thrusts at this new angle sent shivers down his spine as Sherlock grazed over his prostate and that was all it took for the words to slip out of John's mouth. 'Right there Sherlock, fuck me hard. Make me yours.'

 

 

John was his.

 

Right here, right now, with Sherlock’s hands gripping John’s hips as he pounded inside of him, John Watson was his.

 

The mere idea of it set Sherlock’s mind ablaze. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer than he already had. John felt too good around him and the sounds he made… oh the sounds! John was groaning, begging for more and all the while he kept meeting Sherlock’s thrusts. Every single one of them.

 

Sherlock tightened his hold on John, when he felt the pressure on his balls increase and a blinding heat spread from the base of his spine. So close.

 

‘John…’ he managed moan while gritting his teeth. He wanted to hold on. He wanted to feel John come around him, but he couldn’t. He was too far gone already.

 

With a shout Sherlock pushed inside John once more, hoping he managed to angle the movement just right and then he was coming. 

 

 

John had let them fall forward with Sherlock's last thrust, leaving Sherlock to rock against John's back as he rode his orgasm out, the friction from the sheets and Sherlock's movements helping John along. 

 

He was almost there too, before he felt a hand reach around his waist and his body being pulled to its side. Warm, long fingers wrapped themselves around his length and began with several long pumps before his hand closed into a first and worked on his head. Concentrating there with short, tight movements. 

 

Sherlock's deep voice was resonating in his ear. ‘Mmm, John. You're so heavy, so slick in my hand. Come for me John. Show me. Please. I want to see you, now.'

 

 

John was close; Sherlock could sense it even through the haze that settled in his mind. 

 

He could barely see John's face while they were lying on their sides but it was enough. Anymore and Sherlock wasn't sure he would manage. 

  
  
Sherlock's body was trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm and begging at him to slow down. To rest. But the sounds that escaped John as Sherlock continued to thrust inside him and stroke him, were incentive enough to keep going.

 

In the end, it was Sherlock's lips that pushed John over the edge, placed behind John's ear sucking on the sensitive skin. John groaned long and deep and Sherlock held him, slowing his hand and his thrusts at the same time to guide John through it. And Sherlock, like during their previous encounter, was awed. 

 

 

John had meant to say something, at least turn around to snuggle into Sherlock's chest, but he figured that might be in poor taste. Sherlock Holmes didn't seem to be the snuggling type.  

 

Instead John opted for inching back towards Sherlock's long, lean body and wrapping his fingers together with the arm draped across his body. He brought it to his lips for a kiss, ending with a contented sigh. Words would ruin the moment. John squeezed the hand he held tightly and let himself drift off. They could resolve whatever this was in the morning, because this had to be something. You just didn't have two encounters like this without it being something. 

 

 

Sherlock waited until John's breath had evened out and slowed down before moving away, carefully untangling his hand from John's. John didn't stir. 

  
  
Sherlock let out a breath, noting to his horror that it trembled. He needed to get out of here. Think. He couldn't think with John so close. 

  
  
He rose from the bed and locked himself away in the bathroom. His hands gripped the sink tightly, forcing himself to calm down. But it didn't help. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see John, gasping, begging him for more without uttering a syllable. The mirror greeted him with himself, neck covered in love bites. His hair was a mess - John's hands had done that! - and his lips... God, no, stop it!  
And if he glanced down, his cock, limp now and still covered in lube, very much reminded him what he had done. 

  
  
Not good. 

 

Why hadn't he said no? Pretended not to want such things? John would have understood. But then, John would have left. Find someone else and then there would be the risk of John never going back to him again. 

  
  
John liked sex. Also liked sex with men, apparently. This hadn't been his first time. John craved intimacy. Especially after a case - twice it had happened now and twice the rush of adrenaline had blown away every single barrier. 

  
  
Life affirming. 

  
  
That was it. That had to be it. 

  
  
Sherlock felt his heart calm down. He could deal with that. If this meant John wouldn't leave him again for someone else, he could deal with it. 

  
  
Sex, to relieve tension. Nothing more. It had to be enough. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of fanfiction, let us just assume they are both squeaky clean and free from any disease. Safe sex everyone!
> 
> And yes, we are aware that they are idiots. Feel free to yell at your screen (we sure as hell did).
> 
> EDIT: DUE TO JOHNNLOCKED GOING ON HOLIDAY, IT MIGHT BE A WHILE BEFORE CHAPTER 3 GOES UP!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're back! Thank you all so much for the wait. 
> 
> Warning: our boys are being idiots.

John stretched and rolled in bed and was immediately aware of several things. First, the sheets were extremely soft and felt like heaven on his skin, second, this bed was much bigger than his own and softer and third, he wasn't alone in bed. He could feel those legs next to his, very muscular and well defined, covered in hair. He knew exactly where he was and how he'd gotten here and now it was time to face the inevitable fallout. 

 

He could have startled awake, apologizing from the get go, blame what had happened on the rush of adrenaline from the case, swear it will never happen again but that was a lie. He knew better especially now with a taste of what he could have. His whole body felt deliciously sated and in fact he'd like nothing more than to crawl on top Sherlock and remind him how much he enjoyed last night. Maybe he should do just that depending on the reaction he would receive now that he was up. 

 

He'd test the waters. 'Morning,' he yawned draping his arm across Sherlock's legs. 

 

 

Sherlock hadn’t slept. The events of last night kept repeating themselves over and over in his mind, nearly driving him to madness. Yet at the same time, Sherlock sought those images out in his mind palace. He could pretend, a little, that everything would be alright. Better than alright.

 

He had paced through the house, found the pack of cigarettes John had hidden away from him under the sink, and smoked through it while hanging his head out of the window. John would know. He would smell it, but he didn’t care.

 

When the sun rose, Sherlock contemplated what to do. Make breakfast? Too out of character; John would know something was wrong. And John would worry if he knew Sherlock had been awake all night. So, back to bed it was. He had to crawl back, praying John wouldn’t wake up – he didn’t – while trying not to think too much on the fact that the mere sight of John in his bed, still naked, sent a spark of arousal straight to his cock.

 

Sherlock waited. With his eyes closed, he waited for John to stir next to him so he could fake waking up as well. And froze when John’s arm came to rest on his legs together with a lazy greeting.

 

Sherlock shifted away from John.

 

‘That is quite alright, John. No need for cuddling. It was just sex after all.’

 

 

John had halted his advancing movements. This was actually worse than the response from last time – 'that was... good.'  

 

'Right then,' he muttered, he pulled his arm back and sat up. He seriously didn't know why he expected any other kind of response. He rubbed the back of his neck. 'Guess I'll just be on my way then.' He said quietly as he crawled off the bed. He grabbed his jumper and shirt from the floor, he would pick up his pants and trousers from the sitting room on his way through. 

 

He needed a shower. Needed to wash all of this off of himself – the smell and feel of Sherlock. He made a quick retreat into the loo, didn't even bother looking into the mirror. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand the sight of himself. Not right now. He had known better. His brain had even warned him before kissing him last night knowing it would lead to this. Well after he was done his shower, he'd make it clear where things stood between them. That this would definitely never happen again. 

 

He turned the taps on, letting the water run as hot as he could stand it. Maybe that would take away some of the hurt. It didn't. All it did was allow the tears to falls, the sound of the water covering his sobs.  

 

 

Sherlock resisted the temptation to run after John. To beg him to stay, to tell him that he loved him. But he stayed, biting his lip, until he heard the shower running. It was only then that the sob that had been building up escaped him. He already missed John’s touch on his skin. How on Earth had he managed to convince himself that he could do this? To have John so close and then to let him go, over and over again?

 

Sherlock took a deep breath, angrily wiping his cheeks dry. He had to. He knew that. Because he had lived through a life without John by his side, and he knew, he couldn’t go through that again.

 

He dressed himself in his pyjamas and one of his dressing gowns before he left the bedroom. But he froze when he reached the kitchen.

 

He was at a loss. What was supposed to do now?

 

 

It took John an extraordinarily long time to pull himself together so he stayed under the water until he got it all out of his system. 

 

He had known better and now if Sherlock wanted him to leave, well he had no one but himself to blame. He stood in front of the mirror, wiped the film off. He should shave but he didn't really feel like it. He needn't be at work and he really didn't have anything planned for the day so why bother?  In fact he planned on a quick cup of tea and maybe some toast and then hiding in his room the rest of the day. 

 

He threw his jumper and shirt in the laundry basket and reminded himself he needed to get his trousers and pants from the sitting room before Mrs Hudson unexpectedly popped in. 

 

He took one last look in the mirror. Despite having the best night's sleep in as long as he could remember, he looked tired. No sense putting it off any longer. Might as well go face Sherlock and get it over with. 

 

 

Sherlock startled when the door of the bathroom opened. John was there, freshly showered, dressed in nothing more than the dressing gown John kept in the bathroom.

 

They stared at each other for a second before Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away. It was hard enough keeping his mask in place without John looking at him. 

 

‘John…’ Sherlock swallowed. ‘I want you to know that, what happened last night, and earlier, doesn’t have to change anything. We… it was the adrenaline.’ 

 

 

John looked at him, opened his mouth and closed it. There were many things he could say or ask, but most of them, well it wasn't worth the hurt they would cause so he left things as simple as he could. He went with the flow of what Sherlock had started. 

 

'I know,' he said dejectedly, as he walked over and picked up his trousers, pants and socks from the sitting room floor. He disappeared back into the bathroom to pitch them in the hamper then returned to the kitchen. 

 

'Look, we can just forget it happened. I promise I won't bring it up or let it happen again since I was the one to initiate it. I'm sorry for putting you in that position twice now and if you think it's best, makes it easier, I'll move. I never intended... Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry and I'll do whatever you wish of me now.'

 

That went little speech went better than he expected since he really hadn't planned it out. He was sure he got all the points he needed to across, so now he just stood there leaning against the back of his chair at the kitchen table waiting for Sherlock to respond.

 

 

_Move. He’ll leave._

_John is about to leave._

_No, this is wrong. This is all wrong!_

 

‘You can’t leave!’ Sherlock blurted out, a hint of panic lacing his voice. ‘And it wasn’t just you. I mean, I… I didn’t – ’ Sherlock sighed deeply, trying to calm himself. The suggestion that John would move out had rattled him completely and he needed his focus back. He couldn’t afford making a mistake. Not now.

 

‘Sometimes, like yesterday, it gets too much. I need to unwind, otherwise my brain will overload.’ Not a complete lie, Sherlock thought to himself. But this, this John would understand. Sex for relaxation. ‘And judging from your reaction last night, you needed something to affirm that I was alright. You needed to unwind as well, and… it was good.’  _Amazing. Extraordinary. Brilliant._  ‘Very good. And I like having you back here. You’re my best friend. Surely we can – I mean, occasionally, when the need arises repeat – what we did. Sometimes.’

 

 

John turned the idea over in his head once he got over the initial shock of Sherlock suggesting it in the first place. While he would very much enjoy it – because the sex was phenomenal and he was tempted to say ‘yes’ to it all – he didn't like the awkwardness that followed. Nor could he ignore the fact that he felt somewhat used.

 

Besides, these things never worked out. Even when ground rules were laid and both parties were in agreement, sooner or later one or both parties became bitter because they would end up wanting what the other could never give and thus the entire relationship would be ruined. Unsalvageable.

 

John certainly couldn't live without Sherlock, he had already tried it and failed miserably and it appeared Sherlock felt the same way.

 

He had kept his head down while going through the possibilities, not want Sherlock to be able to catch on to all his thoughts. He finally lifted his head and looked at Sherlock who stood there wringing his hands together unsure of what to do now. In that moment John almost relented and said yes, but it would be unfair to the both of them so he moved over to where Sherlock stood, covering his hands to try and calm him, make this easier.

 

'Look Sherlock, I'm flattered by the offer, I really am, but things like that, they never work out and I really love living here, so if it's all the same to you can we just go on as we were? I don't regret what happened between us but I would regret it if it caused me to lose you.'

 

 

Sherlock could have cried with relief. John wasn’t going to leave. Nothing would change, and John wouldn’t leave. Perhaps things would be fine in the end.

 

‘I agree,’ Sherlock muttered with a weak smile. ‘Last night was… I don’t regret it either. And I don’t want you to leave.’ Sherlock stared at their joint hands, desperately wanting to turn them over so he could tangle their fingers together.

 

Not good.

 

They stayed there, silent, neither of them sure on how to proceed, until Sherlock eventually broke the silence. ‘Tea?’

                                                                                                                           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, we feed off of your comments and kudos, so don't hesitate to let us know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 120+ kudos! Thank you all so much!
> 
> Warning: drinking and sad pining

The first week passed without incident, depending on what one would term an incident. John had regular shifts at the clinic, Sherlock had taken a case from Lestrade that barely registered a four, therefore did not need John's assistance, but it kept him busy.

 

It was somewhere during the fourth week that the first strop set in. John was almost driven round the bend by Sherlock's antics though he somehow managed to survive it.

 

Week number five arrived, without any cases on the horizon and John threatened Sherlock.

 

'So help me, you don't find something to keep that brain of yours occupied I will take time off from the clinic and go on a holiday far away from Baker Street!'

 

That being stated, Sherlock promptly started three experiments at the same time that he had been saving. John was pleased because it kept Sherlock engrossed for the next 57 hours straight which would have concerned him if he had known the git wasn't sleeping between waiting for the cultures to grow.

 

It was on a rainy Tuesday morning when the petri dish dropped to the floor and John could hear Sherlock cursing under his breath and muttering about wasted time. When the second crash occurred, it provoked Sherlock to curse loudly and wince in pain, grabbing his hand that was now dripping copious amounts of blood. John was on his feet promptly and by his side in mere seconds. He grabbed a clean dish towel and had Sherlock apply pressure to the wound while he drug him into the loo and sat him on the edge of the tub for a moment so he could get a good look at it.

 

 

‘I’m fine, John,’ Sherlock tried to ensure John but it sounded like a lie even to his own ears. He wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine. Not only was the lack of cases grating on his nerves, it was John that drove him absolutely mad.

 

John, with his warm smiles that still felt a bit forced and his fingers that brushed him whenever they moved too close to one another. Sherlock wanted to grab him, push him up against the wall and snog him. Tell him that he hadn’t meant it. That he had lied – again. That he loved him and wanted him so much it made his bones hurt.

 

But he didn’t.

 

Sherlock didn’t sleep. He hardly dared to because every time he closed his eyes, he could see John. Naked. Wanting him. And it left Sherlock more desperate than he already was.

 

So when John had threatened to leave him – even if it hadn’t been meant as such – Sherlock took no risks and tried something else. He worked. He worked until his hands shook and if Sherlock had to be honest, that was probably the reason he was in this mess in the first place.

 

John was too close and touching him and Sherlock fought the instinct to lean against him with every fibre of his being. He couldn't slip up. John didn't want that. 

 

 

'No, you're not fine.’ John snapped. ‘Now hold still and let me get a proper look at this.' John pulled Sherlock's hand towards him and unwrapped it.

 

The cut wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it would be. No stitches would be required but he would have to be careful for a bit before he could resume normal activity. 'You're lucky this isn't worse. Now hold still while I get the things I need to clean this, I want to make sure there's no glass in it. You do realise you this may not have happened if you'd take a little better care of yourself and got some more rest.' John admonished.

 

John put the towel back on the cut and had Sherlock apply pressure and raise his arm a bit while he got the first aid kit out. He took care to flush and clean the wound and then bandaged it up nice and good.

 

'Now, you're going to have to be careful with this and take it easy the next few days. We really don't need this getting infected.' John said, their eyes catching each other's. He hadn't realised that Sherlock had been watching him the entire time. 'Does it hurt?' He asked softly.

 

Sherlock shook his head no and without thinking John reached up and brushed his cheek with his thumb. 'You're lucky this wasn't worse. Are you sure you're OK? I can get you some Tylenol.'

 

Again Sherlock shook his head no, eyes wide and for some reason John's head drifted forward, his forehead resting on Sherlock's, thumb still caressing his cheek. 'You know I hate it when you get like this. Something is weighing on you and it's making you a bit reckless.' John murmured. 'I hate that you won't let me help you with whatever it is.' His eyes slid shut and his breaths were quickening, this close proximity was a bad idea but he needed to impress upon Sherlock that he did care about him even after turning down his offer and that's when he crossed the line. AGAIN.

 

John inched closer, bringing their lips together softly and it wasn't long until the kiss heated and John was pulling Sherlock up to his feet and their bodies closer together.

 

 

Sherlock should stop this. He should move away and pretend that this never happened. But the taste of John’s lips was too much. He couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he fought it. John was everywhere, he was everything and Sherlock followed him without hesitation.

 

He could hear something crash to the floor – bottle? – and it took far too long before Sherlock realised that he had been the one who made it fall down in the first place. John was pressing up against him and Sherlock had reached behind him with one arm to grab the sink and keep himself upright. The other hand, damn the pain, was gripping John’s shirt, already attempting to tug it loose.

 

Their mouths opened against each other, their teeth and tongues clashing and Sherlock groaned. ‘John…’

 

 

God, how John had missed this over the past month. He had craved it and had thought about it all the time and here they were again and this was good.

 

Until it wasn't.

 

When Sherlock groaned John's name, John realised the monumental mistake they were about to make. He pushed Sherlock back, a bit more roughly than he intended. Sherlock had frozen, shocked by John's sudden adverse reaction to the current situation they had found themselves in. John stood there, horrified by what he almost let happen again after he had promised himself a hundred times he'd never again put them in that position. He couldn't say anything, he couldn't think properly, he was just so damn torn and confused by this whole situation. He wanted Sherlock so much but it was just too high of a risk of losing him to let this happen again.

 

John had panicked then. He had turned on his heels and ran for the door, grabbing his jacket and running down the stairs while pulling it on.

 

Jesus, he hoped to hell he just didn't fuck everything up. He cursed himself the entire four blocks it took to walk to the pub. He grabbed the booth in the furthest corner and hid from the lunch crowd, so he could think things over.

 

This would be easier if he had someone he could talk this out with, but there was no one, at least no one that came to mind anyway. Call it happenstance then when Lestrade entered the pub and saw John sitting in the corner booth and joined him.

 

 

‘John!’

 

Greg was surprised to see the other man sitting the booth. By himself. And drinking.

 

After the divorce – and Greg still wasn’t completely sure what the hell had happened and he was fairly sure that he didn’t want to know – he had encountered John regularly at this very pub and he had spent too many nights driving John back to Baker Street where Sherlock had been waiting. Things had been better lately though, but this was one hell of a bad sign.

 

Well, there went his quiet free day watching the game.

 

‘Mind some company?’ Greg sat down in the same booth at John’s grunt. ‘Everything alright, mate? You look like shit.’

 

 

'Oh life is bloody fantastic,' John muttered, taking another pull from his beer while considering ordering something stronger the next round. 'Ta, but I'm sure you're not here to listen to my problems. So, we can just watch the game since I assume that's what you came here to do. In fact, maybe it would be better if I just leave. I haven't been making the best decisions here of late and getting drunk right now probably is one of them.'

 

John drained his glass and went to stand. 

 

Greg grabbed him by the arm. 'Sit. Stay.' It wasn't a request, it was an order from a concerned friend. 'What's the genius done now?' He asked, knowing full well Sherlock was involved somehow. 

 

'It's not what Sherlock's done. It's what I've done and I don't know if I can go home now.'

 

 

John was bitter. Angry at himself and Greg knew that that was a bad headspace for John to be in. So when John rose to get away from him, he grabbed him and sat him back down. John might not be the easiest man to help – the man had a tendency to clamp up or lash out whenever someone got too close to the root of things – but Greg had risked John’s anger before. And he was not backing down now.

 

He beckoned the bartender over for a repeat order for both of them.

 

‘Sherlock will always welcome you back home, John, you know that. You two have faced too much to let this, whatever it is, get to you. So…’ Greg halted when two more pints were placed in front of them and he noted John took a large gulp the moment it was in arm’s reach. What the hell was going on?! ‘What happened?’

 

 

John lowered his head, cradling it in his hands and slowly shaking it back and forth.

 

'Greg, you don't understand. I crossed a line, a line I promised I wouldn't cross again, not after the last time.' He was talking in circles now. He knew it but he didn't care. He didn't even care if Greg caught on to what he really meant. 'And the way I just left him. He probably hates me now and I can't say I really blame him.'

 

John looked at his beer, 'I know you're just trying to help Greg, but I think this is something I need to sort on my own. No offence.' He couldn't even lift his head to look at Greg and he didn't feel like his beer anymore.

 

 

Greg frowned and took a sip from his beer. 

  
Last time. Left him. What the hell had happened between those two? 

  
  
Greg hadn't even finished his thought before he froze. Surely, John didn't mean... not after so long... Christ, if this was the case, then things were more than fucked up than Greg initially thought. 

  
  
He had joked about it with his colleagues back in the early days. But after John had gotten married he thought that was over.   
And then that damned speech happened and things had moved downhill real fast. 

  
  
'John... listen,' Greg started carefully. 'What are you saying? Because this... did you and Sherlock... did something happen between you two?'

 

 

John chucked grimly. 'I'd say more than something. Greg, what the fuck am I going to do? I can't lose him. It almost killed me the last time and everything that happened...' John trailed off. That stuff didn't matter. What mattered was making things right between him and Sherlock. 

 

He reached in his pocket and pulled his phone out glancing at the blank screen. 'It's been almost an hour and he's sent no texts. This is so bad.' He pushed his full glass towards Greg. 'I can't drink this. I shouldn't, I – fuck. I don't know what to do.' With that being said, he crossed his arms on the table and buried his head in them. He just wanted to stop existing at this moment. He was fairly certain his life at Baker Street was over and he had no one but himself to blame. 

 

 

Greg leaned back in the seat with a heavy sigh. 

  
  
John was an absolute wreck and Greg feared that Sherlock was not doing any better. He contemplated texting Mycroft a second but Greg knew Mycroft already kept a close eye on his brother. Of something was wrong, Mycroft would already be there. 

  
  
'John, have you talked to him?' Greg tried. 'Whatever happened... Sherlock wanted it too right? You would know if he hadn't. And - Christ, John, you two have been eyeing each other for as long as you've known each other. Surely this isn't as bad?'

 

 

John lifted his head and looked at Greg. Everything he had said was laughable.

 

'Oh yeah, we talked.’ John bit out. ‘Sherlock said it was good, but I imagine he was just being polite. Then he was desperately worried that I was going to leave him, move out of the flat - and that had nothing to do with what had happened between us. He just, well it's quite clear he'll do anything to keep me at Baker Street. That talk happened after the second time and do you know what he suggested? Friends with benefits. Like that would even work out!

 

‘I guess I don't know what I expected but it certainly wasn’t that. There was a time I thought he may have been interested, but now, it's just not like I thought it would be and I've ruined it. I've spent the last month trying to keep my feelings at bay and he's shown no sign whatsoever of wanting it again, until I make a move. It's always been when I make the first move and then it's great and afterwards that face is back in place. I can't keep letting this happen because he thinks that's the only way I'll stay at Baker Street. It's not fair to him, he deserves better.'

 

John sighed heavily and looked at Greg who was grimacing.

 

'I know, not exactly what you expected to hear is it?'

 

 

Greg bit his lip. This was beyond just being 'fucked up'; this was one move away from a fucking catastrophe. 

 

_Dammit, I should have called Mycroft. Right. In for a penny. In for a pound._

 

'Perhaps Sherlock is just... unsure on what to do and taking his cue from you,' Greg tried. 'He always did that with matters he didn't understand. You remember that 'Pink' case? With the stillborn daughter? He looked to you as if you were his... hell I don't know, his moral compass or something. Perhaps this is the same? I mean, I've known Sherlock for a long time and I didn't think that sex was even his area.'

 

Greg hesitated for a moment before pressing on. 'And maybe he is scared. After he came back and you were with Mary, he was... not good, John. Frankly, I was waiting for the day where he would slip back. He needs you John. And to be honest, you need him just as much.'

 

 

John looked at Greg. 'Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't see it because I'm too close to the situation. Perhaps I should go home and sit him down and talk about this. Talk it through till we finally understand each other and not guessing what the other is thinking.' He seemed resolved now and thankful that Greg had showed up and leant his ear. It wasn't nearly as terrifying opening up to someone as he thought it would be and he was fairly certain Greg wouldn't tell the whole of London about this. Greg wasn't like that.

 

John looked over at Greg. 'Thank you for this. I know it's not what you had intended on doing when you got here, but look, now with this sorted, you can watch your game in peace. Seriously though. Thank you, sometimes I wonder what we would do without you. Oh, and next time, rounds are on me.' John left it at that and gave his best smile and stood and headed for the exit.

 

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.

 

 _Need to talk. On my way home. it's not what you're thinking. I hope you're there. I really need to talk with you._ – JW

 

John glanced at the message before pressing send. He hoped that Sherlock was still there and would listen to what he had to say.

 

 

Greg waved in goodbye when John looked back before exiting the pub. But the moment John was out of his sight, his smile fell from his face. He had watched these two dance around each other for years. He had watched John crumble after Sherlock's fall and watched him come back to life after Sherlock came back. Not Mary. But Sherlock. Always Sherlock. And while John had married someone else, Greg had watched Sherlock fall apart though he had tried to hide it. This, whatever it was, had the potential to be amazing for the both of them... or completely destroy what they had left. And it terrified Greg. Because Sherlock and John needed to talk and if there was one thing those two failed at doing, it was precisely that. 

 

Greg took a huge gulp from his beer and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

 

_Christ, just let them get this right. Please!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 175 KUDOS! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!

His back was throbbing because of his impact with the sink and his hand stung but Sherlock hardly felt it. John had left. He could still taste him on his lips, he could feel the fabric of John's shirt in his hands and John had left!

 

Sherlock struggled for breath. He was panicking. John had left and he wouldn't be coming back. John had threatened to leave before and now he had ruined everything. John had left!

 

With his hand bleeding again, Sherlock staggered out of the bathroom -  _John's chair, his mug of tea is still there, his books are still here - gone, all will be gone soon, John will never come back! -_ and he froze in the kitchen. This was all his fault. If he hadn't been distracted, he never would have made that mistake, John would never have been so close and they... God. 

 

A scream of panic and frustration nearly escaped him, but Sherlock bit his bottom lip hard to contain himself. Mrs Hudson would come running and he didn't want that. Not her. Not anyone. 

 

_John..._

 

  

John walked back to Baker Street instead of opting for a cab. He needed to sort through some of the things Greg had said and compose himself before he came face to face with Sherlock. Well, he hoped he was going to see Sherlock because the man had yet to respond to the text John had sent and that hadn't left John feeling very hopeful at all.

 

Hell, John still wasn't sure what he was going to do when he rounded to corner to Baker Street. He really needed to think of something fast, he'd be there soon.

 

Should he just tell Sherlock how he really felt? Should he risk it? This was basically it, wasn't it? Whatever happened in the next few hours would determine the future of their relationship, wouldn't it. It was a good possibility it would be over, so why would he hide how he felt any longer?

 

Maybe Greg was right. Maybe this whole mess was just due to their inability to see each other as everyone else saw them. It did make sense, but then again it didn't fit either, well not entirely. Christ, why did this have to be so difficult?

 

Because _nothing_ has ever been simple for them, John's mind supplied. He found himself on the steps of 221B and he still had no idea what his game plan was going to be.

 

John shook his head and opened the door. The entire place seemed eerily quiet. It didn't appear that Mrs Hudson was home and he couldn't see if Sherlock was home either. There was only one way to find out. He slowly began his trek up the stairs hoping Sherlock was still there and that he hadn't done anything foolish. That he could fix what he had ruined by leaving in the first place.

 

 

The entire flat was reeking with the sharp smell of cigarette smoke strong enough to make one’s eyes water, but Sherlock didn’t care. How could he care while his heart was screaming in agony? How could he even care while John was still gone?

 

Gone. Gone. And not coming back.

 

Until he was.

 

Sherlock heard the door opening downstairs –  _someone with the key, so either Mrs Hudson, Mycroft or John. Those footsteps. That gait. John. It was John!_

Sherlock turned around roughly, pressing out the cigarette on the kitchen counter the moment John opened the door to the kitchen.

 

Pub. He had been drinking, though not much, and frankly, he looked as horrible as Sherlock felt.  

 

‘John!’ Sherlock breathed out, startled. ‘You came back.’

 

 

John wrinkled his nose at the heavy smell of smoke but he shrugged it off. Cigarettes were the best of Sherlock's worst habits. He removed his jacket and threw it over the back of his chair and rested his hands there, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously. He still wasn't sure what to do or say until Sherlock spoke. 

 

'Of course I came back. This is my home. Where else would I go? I don't want to be anywhere else. But we need to clear some things up first.'

 

He walked over to the sofa and sat down, waited for Sherlock to join him. When it was apparent Sherlock didn't realise that's what John wanted, John patted the empty space. 'Please sit with me.'

 

Sherlock approached hesitantly and joined him but sat as far away from John as he possibly could, too afraid to get close. 

 

John grimaced. 'Can we just try... no wait. Let me start again. What I did earlier was wrong.' Sherlock was looking at his hands, wringing them together, John wasn't certain he was paying attention or he was bracing himself for the worse. He couldn't really decide. 

 

'Sherlock, please look at me, I want to know you are hearing what I'm saying.' John paused, waiting for Sherlock to turn his attention to him. 

 

He nodded, happy to have Sherlock at least looking his way. 'Look maybe wrong isn't the correct word to use. It seems I can't, or more aptly, don't want to not being close to you in that way, but I need to know some things first. I need to know that you're not just going along with it in hopes that I will stay here, because if you are, I'm sorry you felt you had to do that. That's not what I wanted out of it. I want you to want it too. And after thinking over about what you suggested, maybe that's what we should do. I mean, what the hell, seeing as how we've never done anything conventionally, maybe it will work and nothing will change except for us being each other's outlets when needed, but only when it's OK with the other person.'

 

God, John felt like he was rambling now and he didn't know if he was making any sense or making it worse. But at least he hadn't saidwhat his mind was screaming at him to say; _I love you, why can't you just love me back_?

 

He raised his eyes and met Sherlock's. He couldn't decide what he saw there. 'Sherlock please say something. Tell me that it's OK or that I'm an idiot or to go pack my bags. Please, this silence is killing me.'

 

 

Sherlock’s stomach was in knots when John spoke. But when the meaning of John’s words became clear to him, Sherlock felt a weight lift of his shoulders.

 

John would accept it! He would stay and Sherlock would have a way to make this all better. John would be with him, kiss him, touch him and it would be enough!

 

‘I did want it, John,’ Sherlock rushed out on an sharp exhale. ‘I do want it. Normally I don’t… do that but I trust you. And it helps. My mind can get too much sometimes, when it won’t quiet down and the sex helps. You help. Nothing else has to change, John, don’t worry about that.’

 

 

John nodded. He noticed Sherlock seemed to relax, just as he was now that they had gotten this a bit sorted. It was a relief to know that Sherlock wanted this to. He would have to remember to text Greg later and let him know that things were OK between them, just not what they had agreed to. That was no one else's business and they could make this work, he was sure of it now. 

 

With the stress from earlier dissipated, John moved closer to Sherlock, reached out and took his hand. He noticed blood sleeping through the bandage he applied earlier. 'Would you mind if I fixed this again? Can't imagine this is comfortable like this.'

 

 

Sherlock looked down at his hands, frowning a little. He had completely forgotten his hands had been injured in the first place. That damned experiment that nearly ruined everything! Oh, that reminded him; he needed to clean up the kitchen properly before John would see it.

 

‘It doesn’t hurt much,’ Sherlock muttered as John cradled his hands carefully. ‘I… I didn’t even notice anymore.’

 

He hadn’t felt it. Not after John had left and Sherlock feared he would never come back. And he didn’t feel it now, while John was cautiously examining the bandages and that wrinkle was back between John’s eyes. With John being so close to him again, how could he feel anything else but John’s breath on his hands and the callouses of John’s hands against his own?

 

Sherlock wet his lips and swallowed, a bit nervously. 

 

 

'Wait here, let me go get the things I need to fix this up again.' John stood and made his way to the bathroom, stopping in the kitchen quick to make sure the cigarette was indeed out - it was - and then continued on to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. 

 

When he returned, he reclaimed his seat and set to work. Luckily, it didn't tear anymore, but he cleaned it again, fixed it up and wrapped it in a fresh bandage. 'There, good as new again. Well almost,' he grinned cheekily. He wanted to reach over and pull him in for a kiss, but didn't want to risk it. They needed time to adjust to this. 

 

John clapped his hands on his thighs and looked around. They needed a distraction, something to ease things back to normal, 'when's the last time you ate? Know what, never mind, you probably don't know. How about we have some lunch? We can go to Angelo's if you like or we can order in. What do you feel like?'

 

 

Sherlock kept his eyes firmly fixed on their hands as John set to work. He tried to memorise every single movement John made with his steady hands. Efficient. Precise. Caring. Doctor's hands. 

 

Sherlock wanted to kiss them. 

 

Bit not good.

 

If Sherlock wanted to maintain the illusion that having sex with John was nothing more than a way to clear his head, he needed get a more firmer control on his mind. And fast. 

 

Sherlock looked up when John suggested Angelo's. It had been a very long time since they had last been there and a change in location might prove useful. A place they were both familiar with but partly neutral as well. Perhaps it would help. 

 

'Angelo's. He has been asking about us, you know?'

 

 

John hadn’t really wanted to go out and felt pretty sure Sherlock didn’t want to either, but he knew that sitting in the flat all day walking around on egg shells around each other would not help. They needed to find ‘their normal place’ again and maybe this was a start. After all, Angelo’s was where everything started. He clapped his hand over Sherlock’s knee now that he was finished fixing up his hand again and looked at Sherlock. He looked a frightful mess.

  
   
‘Look, why don’t you go change, freshen up a bit.’ John didn’t bring up the fact that he smelt like a smokestack, ‘and I’ll read up the kitchen a bit and then freshen up myself. We should both be ready about the same time.’ He smiled, giving a slight rub to Sherlock’s knee in comfort, trying tsoothe him but not succeeding. In fact he was rather concerned by the slight look of horror on Sherlock’s face, and he knew why.

  
   
‘Look, I’m not going to yell at you for smoking OK? It’s the last thing on my mind. It was more important to get us back on the right path together. So don’t worry about it. Now off you get, we can’t go into Angelo’s looking worse for wear, so I expect a nice suit and maybe tame your curls a bit. Hell, I’ll even put on a suit too if you like.’


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 214 KUDOS. YOU GUYS ARE TOO MUCH, HONESTLY. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!

‘Sherlock! John!’

 

Angelo greeted them with his usual wide smile and open arms. Their usual table was ready for them, even though neither of them had called in advance to let him know they were coming. Sherlock found himself smiling as he sat down in his old spot.

 

The cab ride had been tense and now that they were in a familiar and comfortable place again, Sherlock felt a little bit of the tension leave him.

 

This was proving to be more difficult than he expected.

 

‘It truly has been too long,’ Angelo kept talking on as he removed the ‘reserved’ card from their table. ‘I will make you the usual, alright? Both of you. Oh, it is so good to see you two again. Dreadful business before, absolutely dreadful. I’m glad it is all behind you. How have you been?’

 

‘Very well Angelo, thank you,’ Sherlock replied with a reassuring smile.

 

Angelo clapped his shoulder, a bit roughly, and John and Sherlock shared an amused glance. ‘I’m so glad! I’ll be right back with your food.’

 

 

Well, he wasn't right back with their food, but with a bottle of wine (on the house of course) and two wine glasses which were filled immediately.

 

'Your meals will be out shortly,' Angelo said jovially and then looked aghast as he noticed Sherlock's bandaged hand. 'Sherlock, what has happened to your hand? Are you alright?'

 

Sherlock reached out and patted Angelo's forearm, 'Yes Angelo, I'm perfectly fine, bit of clumsiness on my part, and I have the good doctor here to take care of me.' He explained motioning to John.

 

'Good, good. Awful business you are in. I am glad you've finally found someone to take proper care of you.' He said before turning, 'Let me go check on your meals.'

 

John and Sherlock both looked at each other, blushing, they picked up their wine glasses at the same time and took a sip. While it was still a bit awkward, Angelo had provided the perfect ice breaker to get them back to casual conversation.

 

'So,' John began as he took another sip of wine before placing it on the table, 'The experiment you were working on when you dropped the dish, was it important? I'd be happy to replace what you need to recreate if you like since I feel somewhat responsible.'

 

 

Sherlock still felt the heat on his cheeks when he picked up his wine to distract himself from the tension between him and John. Bless Angelo and his wine. 

 

He was reminded of John's stag night. Them, together, drunk, at home and more relaxed with each other than Sherlock could remember them ever being. And although the night had ended in disaster and missed opportunities, Sherlock missed that moment. Perhaps, tonight - or soon - he would have a second chance.

 

'Oh, it is fine John,' Sherlock replied. 'I have enough spare equipment. Molly always helps with that and the experiments were sloppy at best. I wasn't exactly at my best when I started them, to be honest.' Sherlock smiled apologetically. 

 

 

'You sure?' John asks as he lifts his glass and takes another sip. They've both almost managed to empty their glasses and it's only been a few minutes. This needs to stop, this awkwardness he thinks to himself, but what to do, what to say to help move it past that?

 

He drained his glass now and was reaching for the bottle now to refill, what he hadn't noticed was Sherlock had done the same. Their hands brushed against each other. John smiled, 'Here let me, don't need you wasting Angelo's best wine because you dropped the bottle. He'd never forgive you and might actually start charging us then.' John chuckled as he raised the bottle and filled their glasses.

 

 

Sherlock let John pour the wine, willing himself to relax. He leaned back in his seat a little. ‘Nonsense John, Angelo would never charge us. Even if I hadn’t cleared his name, the publicity his restaurant received due to our presence here has more than compensated him.’

 

The restaurant was busier than usual though no one bothered them, thankfully.

 

‘Yeah, about that,’ John said while he handed Sherlock his glass. ‘You never did tell me what happened.’

 

Sherlock smiled and his eyes lit up. ‘Oh John, it was brilliant! Triple homicide, locked room…’ He couldn’t stop talking, explaining every single detail of the case and John couldn’t stop listening, eyes wide in awe. Angelo had placed their lunches on the table but neither man acknowledged him, too engrossed in Sherlock’s story to even notice him.

 

Angelo smiled to himself before moving back to the kitchen.

 

‘Billy! Keep an eye on table 1. I have a feeling we need to prep dinner for them too.’

 

 

John chuckled, 'Amazing and this was before Lestrade became a DI?'

 

Sherlock grinned widely recalling that period in his life, 'Yes, he was just a lowly sergeant back when we first met. In fact, it was interesting that he let me anywhere near the case considering the state of affairs my life was in at the time.'

 

John had a good idea what Sherlock was hinting at but decided to take the conversation in a different direction, 'Well Lestrade isn't as clueless as you make him out to be sometimes you know. I mean clearly he did something right by allowing you to work the case. I still can't believe his superiors didn't take him seriously though when he told them there was no possible way for Angelo to have been involved. Even someone as daft as Anderson could have seen it.'

 

He turned his attention back to his plate of food and took a few bites, chewing slowly, pondering his next question. The warmth from the wine beginning to fade as they had slowed their rate of consumption but they both still glowed, happy with ease of the words flowing freely between them. John took a sip from his glass. 'So how did you manage to get invited back to keep working with him considering how Angelo's case came to a close. I mean yea you solved it but you also ended up humiliating the inspector in charge in front of the entire Met. I can't imagine the welcomed you back with open arms.'

 

 

‘He never did,’ Sherlock shrugging between bites. ‘He arrested me two weeks later. Luckily Lestrade was on duty that night as well. Solved a case I read about in the papers from my cell and when Mycroft bailed me out, Lestrade slipped me his address. He snuck me some cold cases when I was sober and he was promoted pretty quickly after that – he was already well on his way to that point. He urged me to get clean; told me that if I didn’t, he would never work with me again. So I did… at his house.’

 

Sherlock had thought it fun to test Lestrade his personality while detoxing. Lestrade would see that him being high was better, but the man had persevered. He had stayed home with him, saw him through the tremors, the vomiting, the fever, the fights – both verbally and psychically – until Sherlock found himself two weeks sober.

 

‘The rest, as they say, is history.’

 

 

'Wait, Greg got you clean at his house?  I never realised.  It all makes a bit more sense now - your relationship, I always wondered how your paths crossed.  I'm glad he found you and helped you when he did.  He's a smart man and I should listen to him more I think.  And I also need to thank him for all he's ever done for you.' John said to himself more than Sherlock.

 

He took another sip of wine, shaking his head slightly and grinning.  Sherlock was looking at him quizzically now, 'Long story, maybe for another time but not today,' John replied, answering his unasked question.  

 

 

'Well, he didn't have any choice in the matter,' Sherlock added with a faint smile. 'I refused to leave and Mycroft's drones were already positioned outside of his house to collect me if I should venture out. Mycroft felt like I needed a clinic. Admittedly, I did underestimate what would happen to me.'

 

 

 

 

Their conversation wound down a bit as they finished their meals and drinks but neither of them felt the need to leave. This felt right, comfortable and Sherlock didn't want their bubble to break just yet. 

 

 

John knew Angelo wouldn't make any attempt to rush them out of the door and he was enjoying their conversations so he just let it lead to the next topic.

 

'Yes, well that is your brother.' John said chuckling. 'Speaking of your brother, should we be concerned we haven't seen or heard from him lately?' The words were out of his mouth before he realised how they could be taken and before he could panic Sherlock spoke.

 

'Do you miss Mycroft John? I could call him...'

 

'Oh God. Please don't!' and the wide eyed look between them set them off into a fit of giggles. Then Sherlock snorted and John was holding onto the sides of his chair, rocking back and forth laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

 

‘Oh my God Sherlock, stop. You are too much sometimes!' He giggled.

 

 

They giggled. They laughed. And before they knew it, Angelo set down their usual dinners in front of them and refilled their glassed for them. Yet they couldn't care. They have sat there for ages and it wouldn't have bothered them. Because this was right again. 

 

 

 

Sherlock had missed this. He had thought that after his return, they would move back into the dynamic they had before he jumped. But not even after John's forgiveness, had they been able to return to this. The stag night was the closest they had ever gotten.

 

But this. This right here. This was better than Sherlock had dared to hope for. 

 

But he should have seen this coming. The last couple of week had been hell for his rest and now, coupled with the food and wine, the exhaustion decided to catch up with him. Much too soon! Sherlock wanted more. A longer night, because he didn't know what tomorrow would be like. And he was afraid what the night would show him. 

 

 

John had begun to notice the evening wearing on Sherlock. If he didn't make his move now and try to get Sherlock home, the detective would be passing out in the restaurant. Now, how to make it happen without it being due to Sherlock's almost inability to stay awake?

 

'How about we get Angelo to pack this up for us and we take it home?' John asked. 'I'm stuffed, couldn't possibly eat another bite, and we can continue our conversation up at home? Besides, we still have an almost full bottle of wine he started, I'm sure he'll send it along with us. We've been here most of the day and there's a line waiting to be seated now.' John pointed out.

 

'John, you are a genius,' Sherlock giggled. He swirled around in his chair looking for- ah there he was, 'Angelo! We need our stuff packed to go home and you need our table!' He announced a bit loudly.

 

John chuckled and thanked Angelo as he had Billy got their things ready. They said their goodbyes and John helped the lanky detective outside so they could hail a cab. True to Sherlock's form, once they hit the pavement and the cold air, Sherlock no longer needed John's assistance. Only John wondered how long it would last.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OVER 250 KUDOS! *blushes and hides face*
> 
> Warning: mentions of domestic abuse, child abuse, homophobic behaviour/language, and alcoholism. It is all in the past, though.

It wasn’t far to get back to Baker Street but they moved slowly. Carefully. And if either one of them staggered on occasion, the other didn’t mention it out loud. Other than a warm smile and a supporting hand at the elbow. Neither man moved away from the other and their arms and hands brushed multiple times as they made their way back to the warmth and comfort of Baker Street.

 

When they arrived back, John placed the food in the fridge to store it and the wine on the table near his own chair while Sherlock went to retrieve two glasses. ‘Should I light a fire?’ he asked.

 

 

John was suddenly struck with an idea when Sherlock agreed to the fire.  'While I get the fire ready, go get comfortable and bring your duvet and some pillows out here to the sitting room.'  

 

Sherlock nodded as he set the glasses next to the wine bottle and John quickly got the fire going before moving the chairs back out of the way. He quickly ran up the stairs to his room and changed out of his suit into a pair of pajama bottoms and t-shirt.  Oh that was bliss.

 

He grabbed the pillows and duvet from his bed and headed back down to the flat. He was met with Sherlock, standing there holding his pillows and duvet, unsure what to do.  

 

John chuckled.  ’Thought we could make ourselves comfortable in front of the fire and talk? Unless you'd be more comfortable with the chairs?'

 

 

‘Like… on the floor?’

 

Sherlock looked at the floor in question, frowning, before looking back to John. But he did follow John to the ground. He sat down on his pillow, resting his back against his chair and he let his legs stretch out towards the fire.

 

They both wrapped themselves with their duvets and a comfortable silence fell between them.

 

‘My father used to do this with me,’ Sherlock muttered. ‘Not with the wine, obviously,’ he added with a smile, ‘but this. Near the fire, with a book on his lap and me against him. He has the most amazing reading voice, John. He…’ Sherlock trailed off, feeling slightly embarrassed for sharing it. 

 

 

Surprised was the first word that sprung to mind when Sherlock shared such an intimate detail from his childhood. He turned his head to look Sherlock who had now tried to turn his head away from John to hide the faint blush spreading across his cheeks.  John reached up and turned his face towards him.

 

'Hey, why are you hiding?' John asked with a gentle voice. 'I think it's wonderful that you have these kinds of memories of growing up, not everyone's so lucky in that respect. I never had that with my dad, had something akin to it with Harry for a bit. We'd used to hide under the blankets together when we were young and our parents would have rows, but I never had what you talk about, at least not with my dad. And mum, bless her, she would try and make up for it, but it was hard back then. We couldn't really go many places, she was too embarrassed because she'd always have some type of bruising to explain away. So we would mainly have adventures in the woods behind our house. She would make scavenger hunts and she was brilliant at them. We didn't have much because dad spent most of the money on drink, but she made do with what we did. I'll admit, it wasn't the greatest childhood, but it was good, at least better than when I got older and things changed.' John finished, not sure if he wanted to share more.

 

 

Sherlock's stomach clenched when John reached out and turned his face towards him so they could look at each other but the fluttering in his stomach disappeared when he took in what John was saying. John had always been private about his childhood and any attempt of Sherlock, to try and discover more, had John changing the subject subtly but efficiently. He knew John and Harry weren't close and that his mum had passed away, but other than that, there was nothing Sherlock knew for certain. He understood now. 

 

_Alcoholic and abusive father._

 

_Oh John..._

 

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock muttered. He hesitated for a moment because he could see that John didn't want to talk about it, but Sherlock's curiosity won out. 'So, you and Harry were close once? Mind if... what happened?' Sherlock asked while reaching out and grabbing their glasses and the wine so it was easier to reach for both of them. 

 

 

John accepted his glass of wine from Sherlock and took a big sip. He hadn't really intended on going down this road, but now that they were here, it seemed only natural to continue on.

 

'Harry and I began to drift apart her last year of school. She was three years older than me and when she went to uni my whole world crumbled. Right before she left for uni, she decided to come out to my parents. Mum wasn't surprised, but dad... well dad didn't take it well, as you can imagine. He began to take it out on mum and I'd decided I had enough of him taking it out on her so I started stepping in. I lost every single time, but it was nice not to see mum walking around with as many bruises anymore.'

 

John inhaled before he took another sip, letting his eyes fall shut. 'I began to really hate Harry because she never came home anymore. She missed all the abuse, all of what mum and I had to endure because of what she did. She knew how dad was and how he would take it, but that didn't stop her. She once told me she did it to empower herself, but it just felt to me like she was rubbing it in his face.'

 

John sighed and downed the rest of his glass, placing it on the floor on the other side of him. He didn't need a refill, not yet anyway. He needed to get through this next part without any distractions.

 

Over the holidays that first year she was gone, I came into myself. I had always suspected I was bisexual, but had never really found myself in a position where I could explore it until one evening I was over at a friend’s house in the neighbourhood. We had grown up together and known each other well and suddenly we just started spending more time together and started becoming closer. He knew how hellish my home life had been since Harry left for school so he'd invited me to spend the weekend. Anyway, it was late and we were downstairs spread out on the floor watching telly and somehow we just sort of ended up snogging and his dad caught us.'

 

He sucked in a breath, trying to keep his voice steady for the part that was to come. He'd only ever told one other person this story years ago in the army. He'd never found anyone else he'd wanted to share the moment with until now. John's hands begun trembling and suddenly Sherlock's hand was there on his thigh, squeezing lightly to calm him.

 

John continued on, 'Well, his dad called my dad and informed him what the two of us had been up to and made it quite clear I was no longer welcome at their house or to have any further contact with their son and how they weren't surprised that Hamish Watson raised two 'confused' children.... well you get the drift. And it was demanded that they come collect me right away, so there I sat at 1 AM in the morning on this porch waiting for my dad to show up to take me home and beat the piss out of me, but they never showed…  After an hour, the boy's dad had rung my home wanting to know where they were and when they were coming to collect the trash off their porch, but received no answer.  After another half hour, they finally broke down and called the police who informed them what the problem was, but they couldn't be arsed to come out and tell me themselves. I had to wait another twenty minutes for a police car to show up and an officer to approach me. What I remember about him most was that he was young and that he cared.'

 

John paused a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes trying to stop the tears he knew were right there.

 

'At first I thought they were there to arrest me. I know, such a naive thought, but hey I was only fifteen, what did I know? And the officer approached me and took me off the porch and back to the car before he talked to me. He put me in the passenger seat and then crawled in the driver’s side. It was only then did I realise something was not quite so right about this entire situation. He turned to me and said. 'Son, there's really no easy way to tell you this, but your parents were in an accident when they were on their way to pick you up here. I'm sorry, but your mum didn't make it, thank the lord she passed on impact. Your dad.. he'll be in the hospital a few days though, and there could be charges pending, but I don't have too many details at this point. Is there some family I can take you to?'

 

John stopped and took a moment to collect himself. 'It was like I had been punched in the gut. I don't even really remember the rest of that night, I think I ended up at my aunt's house. Two days later dad was released from the hospital and miraculously there were no charges against him. And my life pretty well changed after that. I missed a week and a half of school thanks to the beating I'd received and from that point on I really tried everything I could to not inflict that kind of wrath again, but as luck would have it, I became his new punching bag.'

 

He'd let his head fall back against the seat of the chair they were leaning on and continued. 'When Harry was told, she didn't bother to come home after the accident. She did manage to make it home for the funeral, but she couldn't even look at me, not like I'd wanted her to anyway, because I'd gotten near enough to her and could smell the alcohol on her so I just turned and walked away from her. From that point on, our contact had stopped until years later and somehow I managed to survive the last three years in that house until I turned eighteen and could enlist.'

 

 

Sherlock was horrified. There was no other way to describe what he was feeling right now.

 

He was angry. Furious and glad that he had never met John’s father; knowing what he did now, there was no telling what Sherlock might do to him. He felt sick to his stomach. That John, his John, his amazing, brilliant, brave John had to go through all that on his own. And God, how he detested Harry. How dare she let him alone there? Selfish. Despicable. If he had been there… If he had known John back then…

 

He tried to imagine John at that age. Alone. Putting on a brave face in public – Sherlock knew John had been on the rugby team and quite popular. Though Sherlock wondered about the choice for rugby. It would have been a perfect excuse for any bruises.

 

Had John blamed himself?

 

_‘Why is everything always MY FAULT?!’_

 

God, the relief John must have felt when he left that house.

 

‘John, I don’t… I had no idea,’ Sherlock breathed out but his words felt hollow. How could his sympathy help John now?

 

Emboldened by the alcohol and the need to do something for John, Sherlock moved closer to John, pressing himself against John’s side. Not holding him. Just reminding him that he was no longer alone. 

 

 

This was a pivotal moment for him, for them. To anyone on the outside looking in, Sherlock moving closer to John may not have seemed like much, but to John it spoke volumes, in his own way, this was Sherlock letting John know that he was here for him.  John let his head come to rest on Sherlock's shoulder and placed his hand over Sherlock's hand on his thigh.

 

His voice was quiet when he spoke and unsteady at first. 'There was no way for you to have any idea and only one other person has ever heard this story. The accident never made the papers since there were no charges not too many people know about it and it's a subject that is hard to talk about. It caused a huge rift between Harry and myself, one that till this day still hasn't been sealed and I don't know if it will ever be, but it took me a long time to come to terms with it.' He sighed, not sure if he wanted to say more on the subject or just let it drop off, but for some reason he kept talking.

 

'For the longest time, I used to think it was all my fault and part of me will always blame myself. If I had never been at that house that night, this never would have happened. That the only reason my mum had been in the car that night was so that my dad wouldn't end up killing me with his bare hands. So when the beatings became a regular thing, unavoidable as they were, I just let them happen because deep down I thought I deserved them, this was my way to repent. Not that I wanted mum to suffer anymore at dad's hand, but it was my fault she was in that car, it was my fault she died.'

 

He drew in a ragged breath. 'It took me years to realise that it wasn't my fault. I wasn't the monster, that it was my dad, and on most days that is good enough, but every now and then when doubt sets in, this all rears its ugly head and makes me uncertain of what the right thing to do is.'

 

 

Sherlock wanted to find the man who dared to call himself John’s father. He wanted to tear him down, have Mycroft deal with him, and erase him from John’s existence. Delete him from John’s mind. Wipe him off the face of the Earth.

 

‘John… It wasn’t your fault,’ Sherlock vowed. ‘What happened to your mother, was never on you. That man was responsible for his own actions.’ Sherlock couldn’t call him ‘John’s father’; the man wasn’t worthy of the title. ‘You were a kid. He was supposed to take care of you, understand you and listen to you! Not…’

 

Sherlock couldn’t bear it. The thought of John – young, grieving and alone – being beaten because of who he was. Because of that man’s sick and abusive mind.

 

But underneath it all, Sherlock couldn’t help but think. The man is – or was? – a drinker. Had he been drinking that night? Had someone even thought about investigating him before sending John back to him? Had no one seen the bruises on John’s mother’s skin? On John’s skin? Had nobody seen Harry practically running away from that house after coming out to her parents? Had nobody made the connection of John waiting outside the house of a male friend and the fact that John turned up bruised and battered after a week of missing school?

 

Goddammit, where they all idiots?!

 

‘Where is he now?’ Sherlock asked and he couldn’t keep his anger out of his voice when he did. 

 

 

John raised his head to take in the change of Sherlock's changing demeanour, what had been a relaxed albeit somewhat emotional atmosphere a few moments ago, was now turning into a tense, anger filled one. John regarded him. He could see the anger was clearly pointed at John's father for all the hurt he had put John through, but John had moved past that and he didn't need Sherlock focusing on that, he had told Sherlock so that Sherlock could understand more about him as a person.

 

'Sherlock, I've no idea where he is or if he's still alive and personally I don't care. He no longer has any type of hold over me.' He half frowned. 'I don't want you to focus on that part of my life for that reason, that's not why I told you about it. I just wanted you to understand that's why I am the way I am sometimes.'

 

Sherlock nodded and though John could still see the anger flash in his eyes, there was also something else there - concern and compassion - and it threw John, he had not been expecting to see that. Was it real or just a hope of John's? Hope that maybe Sherlock felt something towards him.  He reached out his hand and caressed his cheek, he knew they were still on somewhat shaky ground, still trying to find a comfortable balance between them, but this just seemed like a natural progression between them.

 

'Thank you for being concerned, but you don't have to be about this subject, I promise.' He let his thumb stroke Sherlock's cheek and he could see the anger fade and acceptance of John's words take its place. 

 

 

Sherlock leaned into John’s hand for a moment before moving back and nodding. He would let it go because John asked it of him. For now.

 

Knowing Mycroft, the information regarding that man had to be in John’s file. Somewhere. Sherlock needed to be sure that that man would never come back be in a position to even look at John the wrong way.

 

But not now.

 

‘I was lucky with my parents, considering the times we grew up in,’ Sherlock confessed. ‘Mycroft always knew, I suppose and didn’t care. Although I didn’t… act on it until I was in university. I wasn’t exactly popular if you can believe it,’ he added with a smile. 

 

 

'Would have never guessed that,' John tried to say with a straight face, almost made it too, save for a bit of a chuckle at the end. He had wanted to move away from the serious conversation they had fallen into, and it's not that he didn't want to hear about Sherlock's childhood, but he had a feeling that's all he'd get right now on that subject so it was best not to push. 'I can't imagine you any other way to be honest, I don't think I'd really want to.'

 

Sherlock had tried to turn away again from John, but John caught him. 'This isn't a bad thing Sherlock. I wouldn't want you to change.' 

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but John hushed him with a finger over his lips.

 

'Look, I’m not going to get all serious on you now, but I need you to know this. Yes, I know we've both changed over the last few years with all that's happened and that it's going to take time for us to find our footing again and this is a good start. Just let's not hide things from each other, no matter what they are, yeah? I know what we agreed to earlier in the day...' and this time Sherlock did try and squirm out of John's hold.

 

'Sherlock, please let me finish.' Sherlock stilled and looked back at John, their eyes coming together. 'I'm not backing out on that, I meant what I said about giving it a try, but you have to promise me if it's too much or not enough that you have to let me know. I mean look at what those weeks of us barley talking did. I don't want that. Ever. You mean a great deal to me, you always have and I don't want to lose you because we couldn't make something as simple as this work. It benefits us both and we both want it.'

 

Sherlock nodded and John wondered if he had said too much. He wondered if Sherlock was going to say anything or just let the moment pass. After a few moments of silence, John decided to let him off the hook because he could feel Sherlock's unease over the situation. They'd have to work on that. He leaned forward, closing the short distance between them and place a soft kiss on his lips.

 

'You've got to be exhausted. How about I help you to bed?'

 

 

 

_John kissed me. Has kissed me. John has kissed me!_

 

Sherlock sat frozen on the floor. John’s words were echoing in his ears –  _‘I wouldn’t want you to change… not hide things from each other… you mean a great deal to me’ –_ and Sherlock wanted to scream, because this, wasn’t real.

 

Oh, it was now, but tomorrow, when John would be sober and embarrassed for ever telling Sherlock the story about his parents, it’d be over. They’d just be… what, exactly? Ah yes. Friends with benefits. Such a dreadful term; what on Earth was beneficial about loving John Watson like this?

 

He should back out. He should go to bed alone. Create the normal distance between them again, but Sherlock wanted. Oh, how he wanted.

 

Sherlock leaned forward against John, burying his face against John’s neck, before nodding. He was exhausted and the alcohol had hit him harder than expected.

 

 

‘Come on then,’ John said and Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Up we get.’

 

 

It was a bit of a task getting Sherlock to bed seeing as how they were both drunk, but somehow they managed. He sat Sherlock on the edge of the bed and giggled when the man fell over, about two feet away from his pillow. John reached under his arms and pulled him upwards. 'Up we go, that can't be very comfortable.'  

 

He noticed they had forgotten the duvet and other pillow in the room so he went out to get them. When he came back, he found Sherlock lightly snoring and placed the pillow on the other side of the bed and arranged the duvet on top of the bed. He struggled for a moment, trying to decide what the right thing to do would be, join him, or go up to his own bedroom. He knew the moment Sherlock's eyes opened in the morning, he would analyse everything that had happened this evening. He knew that if he left, he would think John was distancing himself and thinking he had made a mistake by agreeing to the absurd notion that they could find a way to be friends with benefits. On the other hand, if he chose to crawl in bed and stay with Sherlock, that would be a tell wouldn't it? That he felt more than he was letting on.

 

John sighed, he pulled the duvet back and crawled in the bed under the covers and inched as close as he dared to Sherlock without actually touching him. Let whatever come in the morning, they could deal with it then, if this was how things were going to be, they were going to have to learn how to compromise.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit sexual content

The pounding of his head was the first thing Sherlock noticed. That, and the horrible taste in his mouth.

 

He was warm, almost uncomfortably so, and Sherlock slowly blinked his eyes open. The light in the room hurt his eyes and it took him a minute to decipher what else he could see apart from the familiarity of his own room. Another body. Almost completely hidden by the blankets and moving only in time with the breathing pattern of a person sleeping.

 

John was in his bed.

 

Sherlock noted that he was still fully clothed – apart from his shoes – and a quick peek underneath the blankets showed him that John was in the same state. No sex then. Had John been that drunk?

 

Sherlock remembered John helping him to his bed before the world went dark. Had John crashed next to him, too drunk to move upstairs to his own bed.

 

_He kissed me!_

Sherlock moved the blankets slightly, allowing him to look at John’s face, relaxed in sleep. John had kissed him. And was now sleeping in his bed even though they did not have sex the night before. Something dangerously close to hope, stirred near Sherlock’s heart and he let out a trembling breath. He needed to get out of here. Before John woke.

 

Sherlock slipped out of his bed, stumbling his way into the shower, shedding himself of his clothes so he could shower. John would wake up from that. He could slip upstairs if he wanted, pretend this, and last night, never happened. 

 

 

John had been awake, but had kept his eyes closed to see what Sherlock would do. He could almost hear the genius' thoughts. He was confused and conflicted about the current situation. He knew Sherlock was thinking of how best to handle the situation so not to cause John discomfort, so as he quietly crawled out of bed, John had a decision to make, go upstairs and wait till Sherlock was finished and then take his shower, go make breakfast which was not appealing in the least, or join Sherlock in the shower. He opted for the third choice, he stripped his out of his clothes and quietly slipped into the bathroom to join Sherlock.

 

 

It was the draft that alerted Sherlock to the fact that the door to the bathroom had opened and closed again and he froze under the spray. John was in the bathroom.

 

Sherlock could see his shape hovering near the sink through the screen but John made no movements to brush his teeth. Or wash his hands. He just stood there.

 

Sherlock swallowed, heart pounding wildly in his chest and he let out a deep breath to calm himself.

 

‘Good morning, John,’ Sherlock started, voice calm and collected. But he was glad that his face was hidden by the screen. ‘Alright?’

 

 

John had thought for a moment that maybe he had miscalculated but Sherlock's tone was even, not filled with regret from last night, not that anything except a kiss had passed between them, sure they had shared the same bed, so he saw no reason for this to be any different. 

 

'Thought I might join you, save some water.' They both knew it was a poor excuse but Sherlock nodded his head and then realised that John couldn't see him so he found his voice, 'Yes, I'd like that very much.' 

 

John moved the sliding door back far enough to allow him entrance and marveled at the sight of the water sluicing down Sherlock's body. 

 

A million thoughts ran through his mind, was he allowed to touch? Oh god if he was, where would he start? Sherlock reached for his shampoo and John immediately reached out for it. 

 

'Please? I've always wanted to do this. I promise I'll be gentle.'

 

Sherlock once again nodded his head and John poured a dollop of shampoo in his palm. He raise his hands and slowly began to lather until there were enough bubbles and then he start gently started massaging Sherlock's scalp with his fingertips. 

 

He felt his lover relax under his touch and moan deeply. Oh god, there was no way they were leaving this shower without having each other. 

 

 

It was hard not to relax underneath John's touch. His head had always been sensitive and John hit all the right spots with his fingers and for a moment Sherlock forgot his questions. 

 

Only for a moment. 

 

Why was John here? Now? And why was he doing this? Because this, whatever this was, was not what Sherlock had envisioned when he had suggested their arrangement. This was far too intimate. 

 

John had kissed him last night. 

 

Sherlock shivered when John's fingers moved to the nape of his neck and Sherlock moved closer, pressing his body against John's. He wouldn't risk ruining whatever this was between them. If John felt like doing this, why would he question it? 

 

 

When Sherlock moved back against him, there was no way to hide his erection. John just wasn't sure if this was having the same effect on Sherlock, but, oh how he hoped it was. Now all he had to do was find out and he wasn't quite brave enough to slide his hand down Sherlock's body to find out. If Sherlock was aroused, then this would be the first time they'd be together without the post case adrenaline running rampant through their system. This would mean that there was something else there. Time for John to take the chance and find out. 

 

"Sherlock, can you turn and face me? Tilt your head back so I can get all the shampoo out of your hair?"

 

Sherlock hesitated for a moment because then John would see and most likely feel how aroused he was, but then he was reminded that John was aroused just as much because John pushed up against his back again and dropped his hands to his waist to coax him into turning around. 

 

They both gasped as their erections came together, the slide of their skin aided by the water. Sherlock immediately closed his eyes and let his head fall back and John couldn't be more pleased. He skimmed his hands up the sides of Sherlock's body then his neck until they were running through his wet hair, gently rinsing all the shampoo out.  As he was concentrating on not tugging any of Sherlock's curls, he couldn't help but look at Sherlock's chest which was displayed before him. He leaned forward and closed the gap between them again making them both shiver from their erections coming together again, but that wasn't John's intention, no. His intention was to lean forward and run his tongue over the lower part of Sherlock's neck to the dip in his collar bone where he nipped at the skin lightly before kissing his way down Sherlock's chest.

 

 

Sherlock looked on in wonder when John sank lower and lower until his knees hit the bottom of the tub in front of Sherlock. His breath escaped him in a huff when John inched his mouth closer to his erection, teasing him with his breath, and Sherlock struggled not to tangle his hands into John's hair to hold on. And when John's mouth swallowed him down, every doubt flew from Sherlock's mind, leaving nothing but white hot pleasure in its wake. 

 

 

John took pleasure in taking Sherlock apart with his mouth. Swallowing him down then pulling almost off and sucking at just the tip, then swallowing him down again.  

 

He let his hands circle around to Sherlock's arse, kneading the plush flesh with his fingers. He hummed around Sherlock's cock and withdrew again kissing down the shaft and then mouthing at his balls, humming the entire time.  

 

He licked back up the underside of his cock, tracing the vein, then twirling his tongue around the head before swallowing him down again, bobbing his head while holding Sherlock steady at his hips. 

 

John loved the way Sherlock sounded, his incoherent moans bouncing off the tiles, he tried for words but the only thing he could manage was John's name. 

 

When Sherlock got close, John took him all the way down and Sherlock's hands finally found their way to John's hair, fingers grazing his scalp as Sherlock finally let go and thrusted into John's mouth one, two, three times before pulsing down his throat. 

 

John rubbed his thighs soothingly and kissed all the way up Sherlock's body to his neck. He faltered a moment wondering if it would be too personal to kiss him but then he figured they'd already kissed numerous times before why should now be different. 

 

He wrapped his hand around the nape of Sherlock's neck and pulled the still stunned detective to his lips. He kissed him slowly, licking against his lips until Sherlock finally parted his and John was able to kiss him deeply like he desired. 

 

When the kiss broke John smiled at Sherlock and winked before kissing him quickly on the cheek. John bid him a cheerful good morning as he reached for his own bottle of shampoo, leaving Sherlock standing there wondering what the hell had just happened. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit sexual content and our boys being idiots.
> 
> 300+ kudos. We are amazed! Thank you all so much!

With his heart still pounding and his breath escaping him in ragged pants, Sherlock stared at John. John, who was massaging his own scalp with his shampoo with a smug smile on his swollen lips. John, who was achingly hard himself. And he just…

 

Sherlock swallowed, moving closer to John until he was pressed up against him. He let his hands trace from John’s neck, down to his chest and Sherlock felt his cheeks flush when John’s smile turned into something more heated.

 

‘Don’t move,’ Sherlock whispered and after John’s short nod, he manoeuvred John so Sherlock could stand behind him. Sherlock’s hand continued its way downward until his fingers found John’s erection. John’s hips bucked into the touch and immediately Sherlock’s mouth was at his ear. ‘Do not move.’

 

 

At first, John was going to tell Sherlock that this wasn't necessary. That Sherlock needn’t reciprocate just because John had felt like pleasuring Sherlock, but when he felt Sherlock's heated breath at his ear, every thought in his mind stopped. John nodded and did his best to comply with Sherlock's wishes. He widened his stance a bit and stilled as Sherlock set to work on him.  

 

Sherlock started with maddeningly long, slow strokes, taking John's breath away and making standing difficult. John moaned at the attention Sherlock was lavishing on him. This was something entirely new between them, and whatever it was, it felt so right. Slow strokes turned faster and John found himself leaning back into Sherlock for support.

 

'God Sherlock, your hands...' John exhaled into the steam.

 

 

Sherlock hummed in John’s ear as he kept changing the pace. Slow and long, harder at times and then back to slow again. All to make John writhe in his grasp. All to make him come apart.

 

Sherlock settled for long slow strokes again as he let his other hand slide down John’s side to his arse, cupping the warm flesh in his palm. Due to John’s stance it was almost too easy to let his fingers slip against John’s hole and when he did, the other man shivered and groaned loudly.

 

‘Stay still, John,’ Sherlock repeated, mouthing at John’s ear. ‘Wouldn’t want to slip.’

 

 

'Trying...' John panted trying to find his footing again. 'Not exactly like you're... oh god... making....fuck do that again... easy.' John moaned in a set of broken sentences.

 

Sherlock moved his hand again, teasing at John's hole, causing him to shiver. John's head fell forward and this time he could not help but move a bit, widening his stance even more. God, how he wanted more and he briefly wondered how far Sherlock would take this. He wanted to beg Sherlock for more, for everything, but he didn't want to ruin this.

 

 

‘Wouldn’t be much fun if it were easy now, would it?’

 

John groaned in response and Sherlock couldn’t help but smile against John’s neck as he sped up his strokes again. ‘What do you want, John?’ Sherlock circled the puckered skin around John’s hole, occasionally pressing harder but never slipping inside. 

 

  
The question took John's breath away and he wasn't what the right answer was. God, he just wanted to say YOU. All of you, Sherlock, everything you want to give me, but what if that wasn't what Sherlock wanted? Damn, why did he foolishly think this would be so easy?

 

 

Friends with benefits?

 

 

Because he didn't want to give up being able to have Sherlock whenever he desired now that he'd had a taste of him. God, everything was swimming in his head and he didn't know how to answer. Sherlock's hands were everywhere, on his cock, at his hole pressing, but never dipping inside.  

 

That was hesitation on whose part? His? Sherlock's? Did Sherlock want more but held back because he wasn't sure what John wanted. Time to give him an answer, quick before the moment was gone, John's mind urged him.

 

'More of you,' John whimpered, deciding this answer was safe enough, not giving away his true feelings, but at the same time hopefully getting what he wanted. 'Please Sherlock.'

 

 

Sherlock’s knees nearly buckled at John’s request. He could imagine, right now, he could imagine that John meant more than just his body. That John wanted him. Him.

 

Sherlock hid his face against John’s shoulder, disguising it with hard kisses against John’s skin, as he sped up his movements. He tightened his hand around John and slowly, so carefully, did Sherlock press his finger inside of John.

 

‘Let go, John. For me.’

 

 

God John was reeling now, he nearly came when Sherlock's finger finally slipped inside him, but he wanted it to last longer than a few glorious seconds. 

 

His breath hitched and he sank against Sherlock, almost unable to stand. He raised his arm and draped it behind Sherlock’s neck gasping as he felt Sherlock's finger begin to slowly move in and out of him. 

 

He turned his head as much as he could and pulled Sherlock's lips to his, just barely brushing them. He managed one word before he crushed their lips together. 

 

'More.'

 

 

Sherlock couldn’t deny John what he wanted, not even when he wanted to. He worked his finger in deeper with each thrust until he was in to the last knuckle. Sherlock crooked his finger and John pushed back against him in response. Their lips brushed against each other, the angle all wrong for a proper kiss and John’s moans escaped him. Sherlock wanted to taste them, but he didn’t want to lose his grip on John either. Not while he was so close.

 

He could feel John trembling against him, tense with the need to come.

 

‘John… John, look at me.’

 

 

It was difficult to oblige Sherlock's request because there was no way John could keep his feelings out of his eyes, not now. But then he couldn't deny what Sherlock had asked of him. He could never deny Sherlock anything, which led them to ending up in the shower like this, even though John had been the one to initiate it. He could barely hold himself up at this point, but he raised his head and opened his eyes just as Sherlock had asked and he knew by the way Sherlock's head tilted and his breath hitched that Sherlock saw. Of course he did, he was Sherlock, though John could really have cared less at the moment because he was almost there.

 

'Oh God Sherlock, please.  Please, I need you.'

 

 

Sherlock’s breath rushed out of him when John opened his eyes. This was real. This wasn’t him trying to imagine things. He knew that look. That softness in his eyes, the want and need in them. This was more. So much more.

 

‘Yes, John,’ Sherlock groaned, circling his finger inside John. He could feel John’s cock pulse inside his hand and Sherlock bit his lip. ‘You have me. Always. Let go, please.’

 

 

There was no holding back, no denying, no stopping anything, except the world around him as John came, and Sherlock drew out his orgasm like no one ever had before. Though this wasn't just about the sex, this was more. This was the fact that Sherlock knew just exactly what John wanted, no, needed to fulfill him. Just as he had done the same for Sherlock earlier when he had dropped to his knees and took him into his mouth.

 

As the first wave hit him, his eyes fell shut and his head fell back to rest against Sherlock's shoulder and John was lost to his ministrations. Sherlock's finger pushed deeper inside him and the hand on his cock stroked him steadily through each sequential wave.  

 

'Oh God Sh...'  John couldn't even finish.  Sherlock had brought everything tumbling down around him and John for one was glad, he knew he would never be able to hide it, not forever.

 

 

Sherlock held John through it. He soaked up every single quiver, every gasp and moan as John rode out his orgasm. He slowed the movements of his hands and he carefully pulled his finger from John before it would hurt him. Sherlock had his face buried against John’s shoulder again, kissing the skin softly. He wrapped his arms around John’s waist, using his hands to wash John’s stomach and cock.

 

He heard and felt John’s breathing calm down, but Sherlock didn’t want to let him go just yet. He made sure John’s hair was rinsed out before he reached over to grab his own soap. John said nothing as Sherlock coated his hands with it and began to wash every inch of John’s body he could reach. Sherlock couldn’t speak. John let himself be washed with Sherlock’s body wash, covering him in his scent and God, it made Sherlock’s skin crawl. He never wanted to leave. He wanted to keep John here, with him.

 

But he knew they couldn’t.

 

Without breathing a word, they rinsed, turned off the tab and exited the shower to dry, gazes not meeting once. 

 

 

With a towel wrapped around his waist John quietly exited the bathroom and quickly made his way up the stairs to his room to get dressed. Somehow he had managed to miss running into Mrs. Hudson on the stairs and when he made it to his room he closed the door to lean against it trying to catch his breath.

 

What the hell had he just let happen? Christ, Sherlock would surely tell him to move out now, wouldn't he? But then why did Sherlock use his own body wash on John afterwards. He stopped breathing, oh God.  Could it actually be possible? Had they danced around the enormity of this situation because they both feared letting the other see their true emotions? There was only one thing to do.

 

John needed to get dressed quickly and get back downstairs, make some tea and actually talk to Sherlock, no prancing around the subject or denying any feelings.  

 

He quickly pulled an outfit together and readied himself. He made no show of hesitation walking down the stairs. As soon as he entered the flat, he went straight to the kitchen and started the tea. The only thing missing was Sherlock.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 5000 hits and 340 kudos. You guys are the best.

****

Sherlock stood frozen in his room for a moment, as he listened to John moving upstairs. This was not good. This was very not good. What had he been thinking?

Sherlock pulled at his chair, teeth gritting in frustration. He should have listened to Mycroft. He should have never ever allow himself to be so weak. John would know. Everything was ruined.

And yet…

The look in John’s eyes. Sherlock shivered just thinking about it. He had known what he had seen and for the first time, Sherlock dared to hope.

Sherlock got dressed quickly when he heard John come downstairs, into the kitchen and he, carefully, opened the door.

John was tense; Sherlock could have seen it from miles off and he was reminded of those horrible days of silence between them. Not again. Never again.

‘John…’

John turned around quickly and froze when their eyes met. For a moment, they both were silent, too scared to break the fragile bubble that was. But Sherlock couldn’t bear it. He had to know.

‘What are we doing?’

The question was simple enough, yet everything in John's whole life now depended upon how he answered it. But it wasn't just his life anymore. No, it was Sherlock's as well and in that moment he realised it had always been this way, even if neither of them had seen it for what it was. 

Everyone may have inferred it, hell, they even told them how it was, but they just couldn't let themselves have that small sliver of hope, because if this wasn't really something they both wanted, then they'd be lost without each other. There was no John Watson without Sherlock Holmes or vice versa. 

John took a breath and decided it was time to lay it all out there and let everything fall where it may, good or bad, but that didn't mean he could proceed with caution. 

‘Do you really not know?’

John's hesitation could have made him cry if he was that sort of man. Even now, with his soul laid bare on his face, John gave them room to back away from this. Had John really not seen it? Did he really not know how much Sherlock loved him? 

  
Just the two of us against the rest of the world. It was the truest thing Sherlock had ever said.

  
  
Sherlock stepped forward, towards John, not quite sure what he was going to do. All he knew was that would have to make John see, make him realise. Love him. Properly. Even though Sherlock was nearly crumbling from fear of getting it wrong.

  
  
But before he could, the shrill sound of his phone interrupted them.

This was it, the moment John had been waiting for - confirmation from the man himself and now he was positive that Sherlock felt the same way. Well, there was very little doubt left in his mind as Sherlock stepped towards him. 

And then Sherlock's blasted phone sounded and John could have and would have gleefully pitched the infernal contraption out the window if he thought he could get it away from Sherlock, but maybe Sherlock would decline to answer it since they did seem to be having a moment. However when Sherlock dug the sodding phone out from his pocket, John's heart sank a little. Okay, maybe not a moment after all, but then Sherlock did something unexpected; he rejected the call without even looking at the screen. 

Damnable phone

Of all the moments to call him.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and without looking, refused the call. He had his gaze still fixed on John. He didn’t want to look away, out of fear that this was not real. Because Sherlock had moved towards him, and he could see, he knew, the look in John’s eyes. John wanted this.

God, they had been idiots!

‘John…’

The phone rang again and Sherlock nearly threw it against the opposite wall. Whoever was calling, would be – oh.

‘It’s Donovan,' Sherlock muttered. Donovan had never called him before. Ever. They got each other’s number - Greg had insisted on it, because in their line of work, accidents happened, and they needed to be able to contact each other quickly - but Sally had never used it before. If she called him for something ridiculous...

'What!' He snapped.

John took a tentative step forward when Sherlock said his name, then the phone had gone off again and Sherlock's expression was not a good one. 

Why would Donovan be calling him? And the minute his brain supplied the answer, Sherlock must have received the news because he went deathly pale and he sucked in a breath like he'd just been sucker punched. 

He said no words while she spoke, just nodded. Right before the call ended he told her that they'd come to the Yard right away. 

When he finally ended the call. He looked at John with a pained expression. 

‘What? Why was Donovan calling you and not Lestrade? Sherlock, what's going on?’ Even though John was certain he already knew the answer. 

_ ‘Sherlock.’ _

__

This couldn’t be happening.

_ ‘Sherlock?’ _

__

Not him.

_ ‘Will you come?’ _

__

Not now.

__

‘We’ll be there.’

Sherlock hung up the phone, staring into nothing. He could see John’s mouth moving – he was talking – but he didn’t hear him. All he could hear was Sally’s voice repeating those words over and over again until Sherlock heard himself repeating them.

‘Greg’s been shot.’

The shock only lasted for mere seconds, John only allowed himself that much. He could see the effect this was having on Sherlock. He moved closer as Sherlock wobbled on his feet momentarily and grabbing the back of the chair. 

John reached out for him, but Sherlock pushed him back. 

‘I'm fine, we just need to go.’

John knew not to push at times like these. He knew Sherlock needed a few moments to gather himself, put the mask that had fallen off earlier back on, possibly never to come off again. 

‘Right. I'll be by the door with our coats waiting.’ He stated as he checked to make sure the tea kettle was off before exiting the kitchen. 

It took longer than it usually would to put everything he felt aside and push through. Too long. Sherlock felt like his world had tilted on its axis, leaving him nauseous and drained.

Greg was shot. Sherlock didn’t even know how serious it was, but it was serious enough for Sally to call him. Whoever had done it, they didn’t have him. Sally was a professional. She knew that if anyone could find the person responsible, it would be him.

He had no time to be sentimental about this. For Greg, he couldn’t afford to be.

Sherlock was still pale when he joined John in the hallway, but his face was like ice and he barely acknowledged John as he took his jacket with one hand while his hand his phone in the other.

‘Mycroft. I need all the footage you have!’


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 370+ kudos! You guys are the absolute best!

They found Sally in Lestrade's office and John had to physically restrain Sherlock due to the sight of Donovan rummaging through Lestrade's files, setting Sherlock off. 

 

John hauled him into the empty office next door to have a word with him in private. 

 

‘Look I know you're upset, but she's not the bad guy. She's...’ Sherlock cut him off in a near manic voice. 

 

‘She doesn't belong in his office or his chair...’ Sherlock was set to ramble on something but John grabbed him by the cheeks startling him into silence. 

 

‘I need you to look at me and hear every word I say Sherlock, yes?’

 

Sherlock nodded but John still kept his hold on Sherlock's face. 

 

‘She's just doing her job and I am going to assume she's gathering up everything for you that Lestrade was working on. Now if you want to be able to work this you're going to have to put aside your disdain of her and Anderson and anyone else who annoys you or you risk being tossed from the case. Now I'm going to let go and when I do I expect a little more rational behaviour from you. Also when we go back in Lestrade's office, I expect you to apologise to her and be sincere. Greg deserves the best person working this case and I'll be damned if I let said best person stand in his own way of that. Do we understand each other?’

 

 

Sherlock straightened himself, gave John a curt nod with clenched jaws as he bit down his words, before storming off and back into Greg’s office again. Sally looked up with a grim expression and a silent understanding passed between the two of them.

 

For Greg.

 

‘Video data will be delivered here within fifteen minutes,’ Sherlock began. ‘Do not ask where it is from. In the meantime, I need to know everything. What happened?’

 

Sally pursed her lips and then, professionally and with barely a tremble in her voice, described what had happened.

 

Drug dealer. Suspect in a murder case; Sherlock hadn’t been interested in it when Greg texted him. They didn’t have a name. Just a location. Greg and Sally had been in the area – wearing civilian clothing – when a shot had rung out and Greg was suddenly on the floor. Sally had had enough time to change her clothing; Sherlock could see the traces of a hastily thrown on blouse, but there was still blood underneath her fingernails.

 

Sherlock’s stomach rolled. 

 

Greg’s blood. 

 

He didn’t even knew how he was. Sally answered him before he could ask the question. ‘He is still in surgery. Shoulder hit. He was out when they collected him.’ Sally’s voice wobbled more now and she swallowed a couple of times. 

 

 

John cleared his throat, ‘Well, he's in the best hands at Bart's. The trauma team there is excellent. Meanwhile, I think we should work on sifting through these files and see what we can find.' John looked to Sherlock who had been silent for a few moments. His eyes were transfixed on the computer screen in front of him, John stood silently and observed and he knew the exact moment Sherlock found something he could use.

 

‘I'll be in touch,’ was all Sherlock said as he left the laptop open and the frame paused on the image of a man. John looked at him as he just walked by him making his way towards the lifts.

 

He looked at Sally, ‘I'll keep you informed.’ He said as he turned and took off after Sherlock. He barely made it on the lift before the doors closed. He tried not to be too upset, he knew this had shaken Sherlock up good and he understood now that he knew the history between Sherlock and Greg, but when Sherlock did things like this - trying to handle things on his own, this is when things usually went bad.

 

‘You know, you can't just leave me behind. You need back up on this. I'll let you call the shots, but you are NOT attempting to do this on your own.’ John said matter-of-factly, no trace of anger in his voice.

 

 

‘I’ll be fine, John.’ Sherlock told him harshly. ‘I know who I need to find. And I have people out looking.’

 

Sherlock waved his phone, showing the text he sent to his homeless network with a picture of the man Sherlock had paused the video on attached to it. ‘We can’t waste any time. We need to find him before he disappears.’

 

Sherlock gritted his teeth as the lift rode down and his phone stayed silent. ‘Do you have your gun with you?’ 

 

 

‘No, considering everything that had been going on prior to the phone call and then the shock of it I hadn't thought to grab it. Why don't we just head back to Baker Street for a moment, I'll grab it and you can change, because he will see you coming from a mile away.’

 

‘Fine.’

 

Sherlock huffed. His phone was still silent as they exited the Yard and hailed a cab to take them back to Baker Street.

 

 

Sherlock said nothing, tense with a need to solve this. To get the man who had dared to harm Lestrade. If only he had taken on the case when Lestrade had asked for his help...

 

Sherlock's phone chimed and interrupted his thought. 'Yes! John, they found him.' Sherlock leaned forward to the driver. 'Hurry up to Baker Street, wait there for us and we'll tip you. Generously!’ 

 

 

John knew Sherlock's emotions were beginning to take control of the situation and not allow him to think clearly. He had a very brief window to talk to him and make sure he stayed on track and not let himself be distracted. Sherlock always liked to claim that he was above sentiment, but John knew better now, knew how deep it actually ran.

 

He quickly ran up the stairs and retrieved his gun and made it to the doorway of Sherlock's room before the detective had finished dressing. What he saw took his breath away and not in a good way. He inhaled and coughed a bit and Sherlock looked up, an annoyed expression covering his face.

 

‘Sorry... I just never thought I'd see that outfit ever again.’ The infamous Shezza outfit, and it left a very sour taste in his mouth but he had to act quick before they left the flat.

 

‘Look, I know this is upsetting,’ John started but Sherlock had been pulling his track jacket on and making for the door.

 

‘NOT NOW JOHN!’ he yelled and John grabbed him by the wrist as he tried to get by him.

 

‘Yes now damn it! I don't care if the cabbie's waiting. I'll pay the fucking fare like I always do and tip him good. You need to listen and I'll keep it brief. Just keep your head on your shoulders and don't do anything stupid. And DO NOT run off from me and leave me behind. Are we clear?’

 

 

'I need to catch him, John. He'll disappear if we don't move now and I'll do what I have to. You'll be there, with your gun. You'll know when to intervene,' Sherlock bit out. He pulled away from John to go outside and went back to the cab that was still waiting for them. John followed him and Sherlock bit out the address of the dealer's location to the cabbie, who took off. 

 

'I'll draw him out,' Sherlock explained. 'He is a drug dealer and I know how to play the part. Just... lie back, keep an eye on us and I'll bring him to you.’

 

Sherlock's heart was pounding, his muscles tense with adrenaline. 

 

 

John knew things were bad, he also knew somehow mistakes were going to be made. He didn't dare text Sally with the location yet, he'd have to wait until there was enough distance between him and Sherlock.

 

He also knew that it was now up to him to keep Sherlock safe and he knew the best way to do that would be to stop this insanity right now but he knew Sherlock would never forgive him, so he sat quietly as the cab drove on letting his anger stew. If they made it through this without either of them getting hurt too badly, there were going to be some rules set in place, and well if Sherlock didn't like it, then he'd just have to learn to deal with it somehow.

 

 

When the cab stopped near the park, Sherlock was out before the cabbie could even tell them the cost. John paid quickly and rushed after Sherlock.

 

'You need to enter the park on the other end. We can't be seen together or he'll know something is wrong. There is a bench overseeing the park. Go sit there. I'll be with him.'

 

Sherlock kept moving as John turned to go to the other entrance and Sherlock had found their man in no time. 

 

Time to get to work. 

 

Sherlock hunched his shoulders a little as he approached him, twitching his hands to pretend he was desperate. 'Sorry... I... you have something right? They told me. Please tell you me you have something.'

 

The man raised his eyebrow and glanced around. 'You a cop?'

 

Idiot. Sherlock could still the powder burns on his fingers. Definitely their man.   
Sherlock suppressed his snarl and he shook his head. 'No, please no. I'm not a cop. But I just want... I need it.'

 

 

As John rounded to the other entrance, he texted Sally their location and Sherlock's plan. He was grumbling to himself just as he entered the park and spotted Sherlock and the guy they were after. As he was heading for the bench Sherlock told him to go wait at, two younger punks bumped into him on purpose, almost knocking him on his arse. ’Oi, mind where you're going why don't you?’ John grit out.

 

‘Maybe you shouldn't have your nose stuck in your phone pops,’ the younger of the two said while the other tried to grab him. Big mistake, as John was ready for him and grabbed him by the wrist and snapped it backwards causing quite the ruckus. John had him on the ground immediately and as the second boy swung his leg out to kick him, John grabbed his foot and pulled it under his arm twisting him and bringing him to the ground.

 

By the time he looked up in the direction of where Sherlock had been he began to panic, they weren't there. He got up and tried to run off in the direction Sherlock had been, but one of the kids had grabbed him by his ankle and yanked him down. As soon as he could he rolled and kicked the punk in the face and pulled his gun and aimed it at the other. ‘Care to press your luck? Either of you because now you have really pissed me off.’

 

 

'You got cash?'

 

Sherlock observed the man. He was licking his lips, eyeing Sherlock from head to toe and he knew no amount of money in the world would be enough. This man expected something else for payment. 

 

'No. Please. I'll do anything.' There was a hint of despair in his voice now and the man grinned. 

  
'I'm sure we can figure something out.' He moved closer, sliding his hand against Sherlock's neck. 'Come on. Let's go search for a little privacy.'

 

Sherlock nodded and glanced towards where he knew John would be. But he wasn't looking. He hadn't even seen them. Two other men were crowding John, looking for a fight. Sherlock couldn't wait. They couldn't risk losing him now. Sherlock needed to make him pay for shooting Lestrade. 

 

So he followed the man, breathing in deeply. He was on his own. 

 

 

By the time John had finished with the two punks that had accosted him and got back on his feet, he made a mad dash to the spot where Sherlock had been.  He looked around and spotted some tracks which he hoped where Sherlock's. What he didn't notice was that Donovan and company had arrived, picked up the two teens that had given John an issue and began following John. 

 

What John had come upon though, he wasn't prepared for. When he finally found Sherlock, it was in a path between two buildings in the park. The suspect was trying to man handle Sherlock into a rather somewhat suggestive position and being a little over zealous in John's opinion. What John couldn't understand is why Sherlock was letting him. 

 

John cleared his throat loudly and took a step forward. 

 

‘Sod off mate, find your own hidey hole. Tending to business here if you didn't notice.’ The smug bastard had the nerve to say. 

 

He could see Sherlock tense and that was the last thing he remember as he clenched his fists and strode forward. 

 

‘Look I...’ we're the only words the suspect got out before his head was bounced off the brick several times. 

 

Sherlock scrambled to the side and watched in dismay as John turned and looked at him not speaking, the hurt and betrayal plain as day on his face. John walked passed Sherlock, passed Donovan who had witnessed the whole thing. ‘There's the man who shot Lestrade. Do with him and Sherlock what you will. I don't give a fuck.’

 

He walked the entire way back to Baker Street deep in thought.

 

 

'John? John!'

 

But John was out of his reach before Sherlock could stop him and Sherlock watched in horror as John continued to ignore him as he walked away from them. 

 

Surely John didn't think...

 

Sherlock swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. The man had been armed and Sherlock had been on his own; Sherlock had no other choice but to comply and wait for his moment. But John had gotten angry and Sherlock couldn't help but to think the blame was his.

 

'Holmes!'

 

Donovan's voice startled him. She had the man handcuffed and she shoved roughly in front of her. 'Come on. Every scrap of evidence you can find you book this bastard...'


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay; real life really is a bitch sometimes. 
> 
> But we hope this chapter will make it up to you all. Thank you so much for sticking by us.

When John finally reached Baker Street two hours later he found the flat empty, which was a good thing because he knew he couldn't handle Sherlock right now. In fact, during his walk home he'd thought about a lot of things and was now beginning to question everything.  

 

This was the first time something like this had happened and it became clear to John now that Sherlock wasn't going to change, that he would always put his life in danger for a case no matter what, and John wasn't sure he could handle that. He'd already lived through Sherlock's death once and had no desire to go through that again.  

 

He found himself pacing. John hadn't even taken his jacket off yet and he was becoming angrier by the second. It wasn't that he'd thought Sherlock would willingly do anything like that, not now at least since they'd started whatever it was between them, but that didn't mean he wouldn't get hurt. John didn't want to be here right now, he couldn't think straight and he needed to sort this before him and Sherlock could move on, if John still wanted that.   

 

He turned and walked up to his room to pack an overnight bag. He would find somewhere to stay for a few days if needed and then come back and work things out with Sherlock. He would leave a note explaining things and that would just have to do.    
   
He was just heading back down to the flat with bag in hand when he came face to face with Sherlock.  

 

 

Sherlock barely managed to keep his focus long enough to give Donovan the information she needed to build up her case against Lestrade’s shooter. By the time Donovan let him go, there was still no news from the hospital; Sherlock tried to take it as a good sign. 

  

Surgeries, especially for gunshot wounds, could take a while. An early call would mean… no. He couldn’t think about that. Lestrade would be fine. He had to be. 

  

But without John beside him, it was harder than ever to convince himself of that and fear gripped Sherlock’s heart. He needed John. He needed him now! 

  

No one stopped him when he left the Yard and Sherlock was glad for it. And when the cab pulled up at Baker Street and Sherlock saw John exiting the building with a bag ready, he realised what a close call it had been. 

  

‘John! Where are you going?’ 

 

 

'Away,' John said in a clipped tone and tried to walk around Sherlock, but Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist and turned him.  

 

John dropped his bag and grabbed Sherlock's wrist with his free hand and twisted until he was free and took several steps back. Sherlock tried to move forward and John held his hands up in front of him. He was livid.  

 

'STOP. I need to be away from you, from all of this. I left a note. Just let me go. I can't do this now. I won't.' And with that he picked his bag up and walked away leaving Sherlock standing alone on the pavement.  

 

 

‘What about this morning?!’ 

  

The words escaped Sherlock’s mouth before he could think them over and his knees nearly buckled in relief when John froze. But he didn’t turn. ‘He shot Greg, John,’ Sherlock called out. ‘I had to… and you were away, I had – I had to buy for time until you could come and help me. You wouldn’t have wanted me to risk my own life again. You barely forgave me for it last time!’ 

  

People on the street were stopping to watch him now, but Sherlock didn’t care. John couldn’t leave. Not after everything. 

  

‘So, I let him. Please John… you can’t leave… This morning, I thought…’ 

  

Sherlock’s words halted in his throat. 

  

Stupid. 

  

Foolish. 

  

Sentimental. 

  

He had thought something might change between them. Something for the better. But now he had ruined everything, yet again. John deserved better than him. He should have let him go.  

 

 

John didn't turn but questioned, 'thought what?'  

 

When no reply came he spun on his heels and stalked back to Sherlock and got right in his face.  

 

'Thought what exactly because if you had meant any of it you wouldn't have fucking left alone with him.' He'd dropped his bag again and was clenching his fists. He was getting angrier by the second, but he couldn't leave even though he knew he should - this is why he hadn't wanted to do this right now in the first place and had tried leaving before Sherlock had returned. He carried on, his voice rising in anger as he spoke, 'don't you get it? He could have killed you. As in dead. Gone forever. No coming back and I cannot, **will not** go through that again Sherlock. Don't you fucking understand that I love you more than life itself and I would do anything for you but I can't if you don't wait for me. You should have just walked away. We would have found him again, but you can't do that, can you? It always has to be your way and your way is reckless and dangerous. I can't lose you again. It almost killed me the first time, so if you can't understand that, that's on you, not me.' 

 

He stood there a moment, letting the words sink in. Words he hadn't meant to say yet, but now it was too late to turn back.  

 

'So what exactly did you think about this morning? What am I not seeing?' 

 

 

Sherlock understood. Of course he did. But what was he supposed to have done? Let him go? Let the man who shot Lestrade go without a fight? 

  
   
'He shot Greg!' Sherlock countered. 'I couldn't just let him get away with it. You know what me means to me, John. I told you what he did...' 

  
   
Sherlock glanced down, swallowing uncomfortably with John so close. God, he couldn't hold it back anymore. He didn't want to. 

  
   
'John... I thought that... I'm sorry. I never meant for it to go that way. I'm sorry. I won't...' Sherlock still didn't meet John's eyes.  

 

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down at the pavement. He knew what Sherlock was saying was the truth as he saw it but why couldn't the genius understand his point, just once? He shook his head and looked up realising that people were still watching. He picked his bag up and looked at Sherlock.  

 

'I'll go inside with you on one condition. That we talk and we listen to what the other has to say, and I can't promise I will stay. I may need some time, but I will try and talk some of this out now. Your choice.' And he lifted his arm and motioned towards the door.  

 

 

Sherlock nodded breathlessly and he followed John inside. He still had a chance. John hadn't left yet.  

  
   
Once inside, they stared at each other, waiting for the other one to start. Sherlock was the first to relent.  

  
   
'I am sorry, John,' he murmured. 'I was so... I didn't think. I wanted to catch him. Bring him to justice so he couldn't do it again.' 

 

 

John sighed and led him to sit in his chair then took his own. He leaned forward Placing his hands on his knees a long sigh escaping his lips. 'Look, I understand why it was so important to catch him Sherlock, I know how much Lestrade means to you and all he's done for you. I get that, but I don't think you are hearing me. You need to start thinking beyond what's in front of you. What would have happened if I hadn't showed up when I did, you said he was armed, you could have been forced to... or wound up.... you know what, it's just unacceptable Sherlock. You seem to have no interest in keeping your person safe and I don't know that I can handle that anymore.' John looked at Sherlock who sat there hanging on his every word and suddenly John was at a loss because Sherlock was actually listening intently and nodding in agreement, it appeared he was trying to wrap his mind around the things John was saying. 

 

 

'I...' 

  
   
Sherlock swallowed. John was right. He knew that. But John had never reacted like this before. Although, perhaps, after the Fall and after Mary, it wasn't that surprising that John had changed his outlook on their life.  

  
   
'I'm sorry. I didn't realise it meant so much to you.' 

 

 

John leaned forward and grabbed Sherlock's hands and held them in his own, looking at them for a moment, rubbing circles on the back of his hands with his thumbs, before looking up, 'it's not an it Sherlock. It's YOU.' He took a breath and readied himself, he had a lot to say, been holding it in for years and it was now or never, if he couldn't fully level with Sherlock about everything for better or worse, then he may as well get up and leave, find a new life somewhere else - not that that had worked out so well previously.  

 

'Sherlock, you must know how I really feel about you. I know we didn't get to finish, well even start our conversation before the phone call from Donovan came in, but I think it's time we are honest with one another. Simply put, I have been in love with you for years, and this morning, I was trying to show you that I wanted more than just ‘friends with benefits’. I had initially agreed to it because once I had you, well, I couldn't ever imagine not having you ever again. At first, I had thought it a fluke, and then it happened a second time and then things were awkward and I should have said something but I had thought that you had regretted it and still weren't interested and then last night, falling into how it used to be and waking up with you and everything just coalesced and I knew if I had passed up the chance that lie before me, I may never know for certain, so really I had nothing to lose. We'd agreed to be there for one another's needs, but I didn't need, I wanted you with my whole being and I thought maybe showing you instead of trying to tell you in words would be the smarter way to go about it and for a moment, I saw it all there and we were so close to letting all the barriers between us down and then the phone rang and your wall went back up, but Sherlock, it can't be like that anymore. Not now, not since I know how you really feel, because if you can't do that, can't let me in and trust me, then I can't stay, it won't work and it wouldn't be fair to either of us.' 

 

 

Sherlock's mind had blanked when John spoke those words out loud.  

  
   
In love.  

  
   
_I've been in love with you for years!_

  
   
John was in love with him. 

  
   
He wanted more.  

  
   
He wanted it! 

  
   
Sherlock saw John's mouth moving but he didn't hear the words. And when John stopped talking, he needed a moment to collect himself. But the words wouldn't come. He rushed forward, grabbing John, pulling him close, burying his face against John's neck. 'John... you... I thought you didn't want...' 

 

 

The air rushed out of John's lungs as Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and he found it hard to hear what Sherlock was saying and was he crying as well? John leaned back and looked down at Sherlock, there was a smile on his lips, happy tears, tears of relief. This was a good sign, but it still didn't mean that this fixed everything. 

 

John brushed his fingers over the cheek he could reach, 'How could you look at me all this time and not have seen it? You who sees everything? Everyone else saw it.' John looked into Sherlock's shining, brilliant eyes and was astounded at what he saw, pure love and understanding now. This was definitely a good beginning. 'I want it all Sherlock, we deserve it but there has to be some changes. It's not going to be easy and it's not just you, it's both of us, but I think we can do it, as long as we really want it.' 

 

 

Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't believe the honesty and hope in John's eyes. But it was real. John was real and John loved him. 

  
   
'I thought... I thought you missed sex. I thought that if I could give you what you wanted, I could prevent you from leaving again. That this was my only chance. To have you... if only for a while.' 

  
   
Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed. 'John... I've been an idiot. I've loved you for so long.' 

  
  

   
John brushed his fingers over Sherlock's lips, 'I think it's safe to say we've both been right fools about this from the start, but that can end now.' He bent his head allowing their lips to connect – slowly, tentatively. His fingers were now spreading across Sherlock's cheek, holding him there because he never intended on letting go of this. Ever.  

 

When they broke apart, John rested his forehead against Sherlock's. 'I'm serious Sherlock, some things have to change. You have to promise me you will try. I know it's not going to be perfect and mistakes will be made by us both and...' Sherlock wrinkled his nose.  

 

John looked at him and chuckled. 'What? The only reason I'm repeating this part is because it's important and when I first mentioned it, I'm not entirely sure it sunk in. What I am trying to reiterate is the fault doesn't lie only with you, I've made just as many mistakes and miscalculations in this whole endeavour as well, but we are truly in this together now and we can work on it as one. I love you and I'm not letting go. And earlier when I wanted to leave it was because I was confused and hurt and angry and I was afraid I would do something stupid and I thought I needed space because I thought things would go like they always did but you surprised me and I'm glad you said what you did to make me stop and stay because honestly, if we weren't doing this now, I fear that, well you know what, that doesn't matter. None of that does anymore because we aren't left wondering what is really going on between us now.' 

 

 

'I won't give up the cases, John, but I'll try to be more careful. Wait for you.' 

  
   
And he could. Because John would be with him, at his side. His partner. His friend. His doctor. His lover. John would be his everything.  

  
   
Sherlock tilted his head, capturing John's lips again. Their kiss was still soft and tentative but it didn't take long before the relief and passion took over. Sherlock opened his mouth, teasing his tongue against John's bottom lip.  

 

  
'Not asking..' John panted between nips and kisses, 'you to give them up...' Now he groaned, because Sherlock hand crawled on top of him now, a knee beside each of John's thighs and his hands supporting his weight as he caged John's head and gazed down into deep blue eyes with rapidly expanding pupils. John's hands found Sherlock's waist and tried to pull him closer, but Sherlock stayed where he was for the moment.  

 

He tilted his head and smiled, like he'd been running some sort of complex equation through his head then he closed the distance once again and kissed down John's jawline and neck, his hands sliding under John's jumper and rucking it up to expose his skin.  

 

John groaned. God this was bliss - he hadn't expected his day to end like this, especially after the events of the day. He did have one last thing to say before he could entirely leave their discussion and enjoy the moment.  

 

He cupped Sherlock's cheeks and tilted his face upwards. 'All I want is for you to use the genius brain of yours a bit more effectively when it comes to danger during a case. I don't want you going where I can't follow Sherlock. I want THIS. I want US to be able to enjoy each other well into old age, we've lost enough time already. That's all I ask.' With that stated, he pulled Sherlock lips to his and let this kiss show Sherlock how serious it was. A soft press that turned into a slow slide of lips against each other until John's fingers found their way into Sherlock's hair, tugging him closer, the kiss growing in urgency and need. 'I don't ever want to be without you again.' He murmured against Sherlock's lips when they momentarily parted for air.  

 

 

'John,' Sherlock whispered.  

 

No other words came to him. John loved, wanted to be with him, stay with him, until they were old and grey. And, oh that thought alone, made Sherlock's knees buckle. Or maybe it was the hand in his hair, pulling him closer, keeping him close, their lips brushing as they panted.  

 

Sherlock decided that it didn't matter.  

 

He wanted the same. He wanted it all.  

 

Since the words wouldn't come, he pressed himself closer to John in reply, capturing those lips again. Their kiss deepened immediately, their hands gripping, pulling clothing out of the way, searching for the places they already knew. 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, we feed off of your comments and kudos, so don't hesitate to let us know what you think.


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